


By the Dim and Flaring Lamps

by sunflowerseedsandscience



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-02-01 22:21:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 96,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12713997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerseedsandscience/pseuds/sunflowerseedsandscience
Summary: Captain Fox Mulder, the abolitionist son of a Virginia plantation owner and slaveholder, has turned his back on his family and everything he's ever known in order to fight for the Union, rather than joining the ranks of the Confederacy alongside his fellow Virginians. He runs off to Pennsylvania to join a newly-formed regiment in the spring of 1863, and there, he meets and quickly befriends the enigmatic young Daniel Scully, a private under his command. Private Scully's steady shooting and bravery in battle have proven him to be a far more capable soldier than his age would suggest. But in the days immediately following Gettysburg, Mulder discovers that Private Scully is hiding a secret, one that could change their friendship- and Mulder's entire life- in ways he couldn't possibly imagine.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t want to assume everyone reading this has ever studied American history, so here are the basics. The American Civil War began in April of 1861, following the secession of eleven southern states from the Union. If one were to ask why they seceded, the answer would vary greatly depending on the political viewpoint of the person answering, but in this story, I am working from the assumption (amply supported by historical documentation) that slavery was the primary cause. So if that’s something with which you take issue, I would recommend not reading, because I’m not here to debate it. The Northern states were known as the Union (also Federals or Yankees), and their soldiers wore blue, while the Southern states were the Confederacy (also known as the Rebels), and their soldiers wore grey.  
> The majority of the fighting took place in two theaters: Eastern and Western. This story is focused primarily on the fighting to the East, where the Army of Northern Virginia (commanded by General Robert E. Lee) fought against the Union’s Army of the Potomac (commanded by an ever-changing cast of characters until Ulysses S. Grant, formerly in charge of the Army of the Tennessee in the West, took over command of all Union armies in May of 1864).
> 
> “By the Dim and Flaring Lamps” begins on the eve of the Battle of Gettysburg. In June of 1863, Lee, deciding to take the fight to the enemy after two years of conflict on Southern soil, led his army northward into Pennsylvania. The Army of the Potomac, under the command of General George Meade, newly-appointed, was moving northward as well, through Maryland, and the two armies converged on the small town of Gettysburg in a pitched battle that lasted for three days. It remains some of the bloodiest fighting ever seen on American soil, fought on ground that was (and remains) every bit as beautiful as the fighting was ugly, and in the end, the result began to turn the tide of the entire war.
> 
> Mulder and Scully's regiment, the Eighty-Third Pennsylvania, was a real regiment that fought at Gettysburg in the same position as the one in the story, but the similarities between the historical regiment and the one in my story end there.

JULY 1, 1863  
WESTERN MARYLAND, NEAR WESTMINSTER

The early July morning has dawned hot and humid, with a thick, humid haze blanketing the Maryland farmlands, obscuring all but the closest tents in the encampment from view. The rising sun will likely have burnt off most of the mist within hours, but for the time being, nothing seems to exist beyond this circle of tents surrounding the dying embers of last night's cooking fire. Captain Fox Mulder, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he gazes about at the world of white surrounding him, shrugs into his uniform jacket, buttoning it distractedly as he contemplates preparing coffee. Crouching by the fire pit, he stokes the embers and, with a sigh, decides to wait and come back when one of the other officers has gotten the cooking fire going again.

What Mulder really wants most, right at this moment, is something approaching real solitude. He has the luxury of having a tent to himself, it's true, but walls of canvas do nothing to contain the snoring of those sleeping near him, and within the boundaries of the camp, he never feels truly alone. The regiment will be on the move shortly- their march north through Maryland is being carried out with great haste- but for now, Mulder would like just a few minutes completely on his own before getting into position to march at the head of his company.

Beyond the outer circle of tents, the rolling Maryland wheat field continues for some two hundred yards before meeting the tree line. Mulder knows this, not because he can see any of it in the morning fog, but because he had glimpsed it in the moonlight as the regiment had made camp the previous night. He trudges across the field (making every effort to stay between the planted furrows; the army has trampled this poor farmer's lands enough already), making for the edge of the woods.

Like any good farmer, this one has taken great pains to clear all of the rocks and boulders from his field before planting, and they're piled just under the eaves of the trees. Mulder scrambles up onto a particularly large boulder, one that must have taken an entire team of horses to relocate, and lets out a deep breath.

Away from the camp, the only sounds that Mulder can hear are the birds in the trees overhead and the occasional rustle and crunch of leaves as squirrels and chipmunks go about their morning business. He spies a fat brown rabbit, scampering along the edge of the field, crossing directly in front of him, completely unaware of his presence, disappearing into the safety of the underbrush.

"You should have shot it." 

Mulder jumps in surprise at the high, clear voice behind him, turning so quickly that he nearly falls from his perch atop the boulder. He relaxes with a sigh when he recognizes a small, slim figure clad in dark blue, materializing out of the fog like a mirage. He resettles himself on his rock, his heart rate gradually returning to normal.

"You're unnaturally quiet, you know that?" he grumbles.

"If you'd shot it, we could have had rabbit stew," the newcomer continues, disregarding Mulder's comment. "Would've been a damn sight better than bacon and hardtack."

"There probably wouldn't have been time to prepare it before we start marching again," Mulder says. "We can't have anyone getting sick from undercooked rabbit, not with the chance of battle so close." The young soldier stops at the foot of Mulder's boulder, thinking this over; finally, he shrugs.

"Well, have this, anyway," he says, tossing something up to Mulder, who catches it almost by reflex. It's a peach, ripe and freshly plucked, its skin soft beneath his callused fingertips. The young soldier clambers up onto the boulder beside him, a peach of his own clasped in one hand.

"Where did you get these?" Mulder asks.

"There's an orchard on the other side of these trees," the soldier answers. "It's a little early for peaches, but there were a few ripe ones within reach, here and there."

"You shouldn't be stealing from the farmers. Not when we're already inconveniencing them by camping in their fields," says Mulder. His companion holds Mulder's gaze, then sinks his teeth into his peach, juice running down his chin. Mulder sighs and looks down at his own peach. It's already been picked, he decides, so it may as well get eaten. Letting it rot would be wasteful. He sinks his teeth into the soft fruit, closing his eyes in ecstasy as the forgotten sweetness floods his mouth. When he opens his eyes again, the other soldier is grinning brashly at him. "Shut up," Mulder grumbles.

"Didn't say anything," the young man replies.

"I could hear you thinking," counters Mulder, and the soldier laughs, his voice high and unconcerned.

Private Daniel Scully, seventeen years of age and brimming with the overconfidence of youth, has been with the regiment, assigned to Mulder's company, for about three months. With his short stature, slight build, and fine, almost feminine features, he had, at first, been the subject of a good deal of ribbing from the other men- at least until they'd seen him shoot. Scully is one of the finest sharpshooters that Mulder has ever seen, able to hit a moving target, in low light, from an absolutely ridiculous distance.

But even more important than his aim is his temperament in battle. Even the best sharpshooter is useless if he freezes under fire, but Scully is unflappable, unshakable, seemingly impervious to fear. The teasing from his fellow soldiers had ceased immediately after witnessing him in his first engagement.

Mulder and Scully had struck up a friendship shortly after the latter's arrival, when they had discovered a common love of reading. In a regiment where competent literacy is rare, and advanced education is rarer still, the two former scholars had taken to one another almost immediately. Mulder had been studying at Harvard when the war had broken out, and Scully, tutored at home when his father had deemed the quality of education at the local schools unsatisfactory for one of his son's intelligence, had been destined for university himself. He'd broken his mother's heart by running away to fight, especially given that his father and two brothers had already left home to join the navy.

Sitting on the boulder, enjoying his peach, Mulder studies the young private closely. His uniform is neat and tidy as always, a sharp contrast to the unruly, unevenly-cut mop of bright red hair that's crammed beneath his cap. His face is perfectly smooth under the boyish dusting of freckles across his cheeks, and, stroking his own three-day growth of stubble, Mulder wonders, not for the first time, just how much younger Scully is than he'd claimed to be when he'd enlisted. Occasionally Mulder is tempted to blow the whistle on him- the fife and drum corp is a much safer option for someone who is likely not yet sixteen- but every time he considers it, he's reminded how much lonelier he would be without his young friend by his side each day. Mulder himself, after all, is only nineteen, and when it comes down to it, how much difference is there, really, between fifteen and nineteen? The enlistment officers are not exactly known for their choosiness when it comes to the ages of willing recruits, and Scully is certainly not the only teenaged boy whose inflated claim of age has been accepted without question.

And anyway, Mulder reminds himself, yet again, Scully's considerable skills as a sharpshooter would be wasted, were he to be relegated to banging a drum for the other men to march to. Scully is level-headed, mature, obeys orders well, and can be counted on in battle to do his job, and to do it well, no matter how dire the situation may seem. It's more than can be said for some men twice his age, and Mulder's not willing to sacrifice a soldier of Scully's caliber, no matter what his true age may be.

"How far do you suppose we'll march today?" asks Scully, and Mulder shrugs.

"Until sundown, I suppose," he says. "I asked Colonel Skinner where we were headed, last night, and he told me I'd know when we got there, and not to concern myself with it." Scully laughs.

"I'm betting he doesn't know, either," he says. Discarding the pit from his finished peach, he leans back on his elbows and regards the encampment, which has just become visible through the slowly dissipating fog. "It's going to be another hot day." Mulder nods. "How many do you reckon will go down from heat stroke before we stop for the night?"

"A good few, I'm sure. Speaking of which," Mulder says, fixing his subordinate with a stern gaze, "be sure you're drinking enough. You're no good to me being dragged along on a stretcher behind the regiment."

"Too dusty back there," Scully agrees. "Plus, I can't effectively annoy you from that distance, can I?" Mulder chuckles.

"No, I suppose not," he agrees, and they lapse into a comfortable silence as the morning warms around them. 

"Have you had any letters from home?" Scully asks him, finally, and he nods.

"I had one from Diana a few days ago," he replies. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Scully wrinkling his nose, but he pretends that he doesn't notice. He's not quite sure what it is about his de facto fiancee that Scully disapproves of, beyond the fact that she's a southerner, from Virginia... but since Mulder himself is a Virginian (albeit one who's effectively abandoned his home and family to fight for the Union), he doesn't know why that would be an issue. He decides it's better not to comment, for now.

"How about you?" he asks Scully. "Have you come to your senses and written to your family yet?" Again, Scully's nose wrinkles.

"And have my mother come find me and drag me back home?" He shakes his head. "I don't think so. I've written to my sister in New York City. She'll let the rest of my family know that I'm all right, without telling them where I am."

"You really think your mother would come after you?" Mulder asks. "I can't see a woman making that journey alone, especially not when we'll be in a completely different place by the time your letter reaches her."

"You don't know my mother," says Scully darkly, and then lapses into a brooding silence. The topic of their respective families is one that they tend to avoid, mainly because neither agrees with the other's methods of dealing with them. Scully doesn't think that Mulder should be putting quite so much information about his regiment's movements into letters to a southern woman (especially not one who is the adopted daughter of a member of Jefferson Davis's inner circle), in spite of Mulder's constant reassurances that Diana, whom he has known quite literally his entire life, is as politically apathetic as they come, and unlikely to pass anything on to her father. Mulder, on the other hand, doesn't see why Scully is so convinced that his family will come after him, should they discover his location. Plenty of young boys have lied about their age in order to be allowed to fight, and he sincerely doubts, given the fact that the Scullys are a military family, that his parents or siblings would go to any great lengths to prevent one son from following in the footsteps of the other two.

From across the field, a bugle sounds, announcing the order to break camp and prepare to resume the march. Scully slides down the boulder, back to the ground, and Mulder reluctantly follows him. Together, they trudge back to the noise and the commotion of the regiment, leaving their short period of quiet behind for the time being, to be continued when the opportunity next presents itself.

Time alone is almost impossible to come by in a regiment constantly either drilling or on the move, and Mulder should be annoyed with Scully for so frequently encroaching on what little solitude he's able to find for himself... but oddly enough, he never is. He never bothers to question it, but somehow, he finds sitting with Private Scully, enjoying quiet conversation together, just as restful and rejuvenating as sitting in silence by himself.

Back at camp, Scully melts away into the mass of men in blue, and Mulder ducks into his tent just long enough to gather up his few belongings- his framed photos of Diana and of his sister, the letter he'd been perusing before going to sleep- and stow them in his pack. As he's exiting, strapping his gear onto his back, holstering his pistol, men from his company begin breaking down his tent, wrapping the canvas around the poles and lashing it into place, carrying it away to be thrown into the wagons following the regiment. 

Private Scully suddenly re-materializes at Mulder's right elbow, soundless as always, holding out a tin cup full of steaming coffee. Mulder gratefully accepts it and takes a long swallow, scalding his mouth thoroughly, not caring in the slightest. Next to him, Scully, his own pack, blanket, and musket held securely on his back, takes much smaller sips of coffee from a cup of his own.

"Thanks," Mulder tells him, and Scully nods, saying nothing. Together, they trudge towards the dusty Hanover Road, where soldiers are beginning to fall in, preparing to continue the march towards Pennsylvania. As they approach, Colonel Walter Skinner, stern and imposing in his silence, is surveying the proceedings from atop his horse. He answers Mulder's and Scully's salutes stiffly, and the two men slow to a halt as they reach him.

"Any word on how far we'll be going today, Sir?" Mulder asks, knowing he's pushing his luck by repeating the same question his commander had shrugged off the day before. Skinner glowers for a moment, but still answers.

"Word's come back that Buford's cavalry is tussling with rebel soldiers about a day's march west of here," Skinner tells Mulder. "Just outside of a town called Gettysburg. Lee's main force isn't far off, and General Meade wants as much of the Army of the Potomac that he can get to march there as fast as conditions will allow." Mulder and Scully exchange a glance, eyebrows raised. The entire Army of the Potomac is marching at top speed to meet what's likely the full force of the Army of Northern Virginia. Whatever happens next, it's going to be a hell of a lot more than a skirmish.

Ahead of their regiment, the eighty-third Pennsylvania, the twentieth Maine is already standing in formation, first in line, ready to march. Behind them, further down Hanover Road, the forty-fourth New York is nearly ready to go. Mulder nods to Scully. "Come on," he says. "Better get into position." He glances down at Scully's belt, where his canteen is thumping against his hip. "How full is that, Private?" Scully grins.

"Full enough," he says.

"I wasn't kidding earlier, Scully," says Mulder. "The last thing I need is for you to go down with the heat, now, with a major engagement on the horizon." He fixes the smaller man with a stern gaze, doing his best to mask the apprehension that's suddenly begun to take over his mind. Since being promoted to captain, Mulder has only led his company in a handful of skirmishes. This will be his first true battle at the head of his men.

Private Scully, of course, sees right through him immediately.

"Mulder," he says, keeping his voice low enough that the men around them can't hear him, "you're going to do fine. Stop worrying." Scully reaches up and claps him on the shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze... and Mulder immediately feels better. He has no idea what it is about Scully's confidence in him that helps him put on a brave face, even when he doesn't feel particularly courageous, but he does know that having the younger man by his side lessens his fear considerably.

The last stragglers have taken up their places among the ranks, and ahead of them, the Maine boys are ready to go. Above the sounds of milling feet and quiet conversation, Mulder hears Chamberlain, the colonel of the Maine regiment, giving his men the order to march. Moments later, Skinner echoes it, and behind them, the New York commander adds his voice to the call. The fife and drum unit strikes up a marching tune, and the great line of blue begins to move down the road as one.

Mulder walks beside his company, Scully immediately to his right. He had, some time back, arranged his men so that Scully would be on the far left of the column, enabling them to while away long hours of marching in conversation. The men rib them about it, and a few are openly jealous of the friendship, but for the most part, there are no hard feelings, no accusations of favoritism. Occasionally the men marching closest will join in on their conversations, when the subject is religion, or farming, or military tactics, but when the topics veer into the more academic, as they so often do, the others generally fall to listening. One of the men had jokingly claimed that he had learned more from listening to Mulder and Scully talk than he ever had from his schoolteachers back home. Mulder can't remember who started calling them the Professor and the Doctor, but the nicknames have stuck.

Today, though, Scully is strangely quiet, as are many of the men. Word of the coming fight has spread, and with the very real possibility of death suddenly staring them in the face, most men's thoughts turn to home, to their families. Mulder thinks of his parents, of his father's fury and his mother's tears when they had learned that their son had decided to fight for the Union. He thinks of his sister Samantha, of how proud she had been of him, how she had confided in him that she wished she had been born a boy so that she could go, too.

And he thinks of Diana.

There has been no formal announcement of engagement, nothing printed in the papers, and no plans have been made for a wedding. Mulder has not even asked Diana's adoptive father for her hand, though it's clear that Charles Spender approves of the match between his ward and his best friend's son. When it comes down to it, there hasn't even been a verbal acknowledgement from Diana, either. Rather, there's simply an assumption, an understanding between the two families, that one day, their estates (and their considerable fortunes) will be combined through their children.

Mulder himself is often conflicted about the entire affair.

He's known Diana since she had been eleven and he had been thirteen, when her uncle had adopted her after her parents and older brother had been killed in a fire in Washington. He likes Diana well enough; he supposes that, if pressed, he would say that he loves her, though it's more like what he feels for his younger sister than anything else. It's certainly not the all-encompassing passion of Shakespeare's sonnets, to be sure, but Mulder's not completely convinced that such relationships exist anywhere else but in the imaginations of writers. It's certainly not the sort of thing he sees between his own parents, or any of the other high society families around which he had grown up.

It's steady, though, the way he feels about Diana. Stable. Dependable. She's an intelligent and attractive woman who shares his views in most things, who will give him children, run his household, and keep him company. It's not "Romeo and Juliet," certainly, but as he's constantly reminding himself, things did not turn out all that well for them, in the end.

He and Diana will be just fine. He has no idea why Private Scully finds her so objectionable, especially given that he's never even met her.

Mulder glances at Scully out of the corner of his eye. The younger soldier's face is blank and expressionless, impossible to read, and Mulder wonders what he's thinking about. His friend is so intensely private about some things, and his family is one of them. Mulder knows, so far, that his father, William, is stern and strict, and that his oldest son, Bill, is much the same. There's another brother, Charles, who is younger than Scully and a bit more free-wheeling, but still capable enough of conformity to have joined the navy. And the only daughter, Melissa, seems to be the black sheep of the family, having run away to New York city to live with friends, rather than settling down and getting married.

Mulder knows nothing about Scully's mother at all, except that her name is Maggie, and she doesn't approve of her son Daniel becoming a soldier.

"What's got you so quiet?" Mulder finally asks, and Scully, lost somewhere in his own mind, jumps slightly.

"Just wondering about tomorrow," he says with a shrug. "Wondering what's going to happen when we get there."

"Anyone _not_ wondering that?" snorts the soldier to Scully's right, a blacksmith named Halsey. "Either Lee's gonna pull his boys back, and it'll all be over before we get there, or it'll be one hell of a fight."

"Lee won't withdraw his men," says Mulder. "Not unless he absolutely has to. And if all he's met so far is the cavalry, you can bet he's going to keep pushing them as hard as he can."

"So, a fight," says Halsey, and Mulder nods.

"Most likely," he agrees. Halsey looks sideways at Scully.

"Listen, Danny Boy-"

"Don't call me that," grumbles Scully, bristling at the mocking nickname he'd had to endure when he'd first joined the regiment.

"Fine. Danny. _Doctor_ Scully. Think maybe you could help me write down a few words tonight? Something to send my wife and my boy? Just in case...." His voice trails off.

"Of course," says Scully. "Come find me before you bed down for the night. I'll help you write them a good letter." He reaches over and claps Halsey on the back, the same way he'd reassured Mulder earlier. "You won't need it, Halsey, but I'll help you write it anyway." Halsey nods his gratitude, his expression tight.

The day becomes unbearably hot as the sun climbs higher into the sky, and the men sweat and scratch at themselves beneath their woolen uniforms. Mulder drinks regularly from his canteen, the water kept refreshingly cool by the wet sleeve of wool around the outside. He keeps an eye on Scully (on all of his men, really), but they seem to have taken his orders to make sure they're drinking enough to heart. Even so, men throughout the regiment start to go down from the heat as the march drags on. They're picked up and carried to the side, to be treated and carried behind the regiment in wagons. Colonel Skinner gives orders for empty canteens to be carried off the road to a stream running nearby, where they're refilled.

The march drags on, and Mulder finds himself disengaging almost completely, all but dozing on his feet, surrendering his mind to nothing but the monotonous drone of _left-right-left-right_ , concentrating so thoroughly on the rhythm that the rest of the world, even the oppressive heat, begins to fall away. The only thing he's conscious of, beyond the steady motions of his feet, is the equally steady presence of Private Scully by his side.

As the sun sinks below the horizon, the command is given at last to stop for the night. Scully disappears into the dusk, likely looking for Halsey, to help the illiterate blacksmith write home to his family, and Mulder, his tent pitched for the night, slings his gear on the ground, piles his uniform jacket on top of it, stretches out on his sleeping roll, and waits for his friend to come and find him.

He doesn't have to wait long; apparently, whatever Private Halsey had wanted to tell his wife and child, he hadn't needed many words to accomplish it. Scully pulls back the flap of his tent and ducks inside (not much- he really is quite short), sinking down onto the grass next to Mulder's gear with a sigh.

"He really thinks he's not going to survive the next fight," Scully tells him, shaking his head. "He's completely convinced that tonight is his last night on earth." Mulder nods, but chooses not to comment. It's certainly not unheard of- soldiers having sudden and unsettling premonitions that they don't have much time left, feeling a strong urge to be certain that all of their affairs are in order, that a letter has been prepared to be sent home to their families, that their brothers in arms know which personal effects to give to loved ones left behind.

"What about you?" he asks, peering over at the young private sprawling on the ground next to him. "Any special glimpses into your future this evening?" Scully rolls his eyes.

"Other than a strong suspicion that my tent tonight will be full of the sounds of Rawling's snores and the smells of Jorgensen's stomach upset, just as it has been for the past five nights? No, not really." Mulder chuckles. "Oh, sure, you can laugh, with this nice, empty tent all to yourself."

"Stay here tonight, then," Mulder yawns. "I don't mind." His suggestion is met with silence, and when he glances over at Scully, the young private has a peculiar expression on his face, one that Mulder can't readily identify. "What's wrong?"

"You're sure it's all right?" asks Scully hesitantly- almost shyly, Mulder might say, if he didn't know better.

"Of course it's all right. Why wouldn't it be?" Scully pauses.

"It's not where I'm supposed to sleep," he says, after a moment. "It's not where I'm assigned to be." Mulder waves a hand dismissively.

"I'm your superior, and I say it's all right," he says.

"Won't the other men complain?" asks Scully, chewing his lip.

"No more than they normally do," says Mulder. "It's fine, Scully. Take off your damn jacket and go to sleep." Scully doesn't, though, choosing instead to lie down fully clothed, removing his cap and allowing his unruly red hair to spill over the arm he's using as a pillow.

"Thanks," Scully says, smiling at Mulder, that same strange expression on his face.

"Don't worry about it," Mulder tells him, and Scully closes his eyes, dropping off to sleep almost immediately.

It takes Mulder a good deal longer, and when he finally does manage to fall asleep, he's plagued by the strangest dream he can remember having in a very long time. In it, he's back in Washington, out with Diana at a society ball, waltzing her around the crowded dance floor as he's done a hundred times. But this time, there's someone he can't see, someone hiding just out of sight, someone he knows, somehow, is a woman, a woman who is watching him disapprovingly. Whenever he turns his head to get a glimpse of her, she disappears, moving behind other guests who obscure her from view.

After a few more distracted turns around the dance floor, Diana finally gets fed up with his lack of attention and storms off with a pretty pout and a shake of her sleek, dark head. As she's swallowed up by the crowd, the feeling of being watched intensifies again, and Mulder turns quickly to see Private Scully, standing at the edge of the dance floor, watching him, that unidentifiable expression on his face yet again.

Almost as though he were jealous.


	2. Chapter 2

JULY 2, 1863  
SOUTH OF GETTYSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA

Mulder drifts back to consciousness long before sunrise, but even as early as it is, he's already alone in his tent. He finds Scully outside, kneeling before a cooking fire, pouring dark sludgy coffee into two tin cups. He looks up and smiles as Mulder approaches, offering him one of the steaming cups, which he accepts with a half-awake grunt. For a moment, they both drink in silence, the majority of the camp still sleeping around them.

"Couldn't sleep?" Mulder asks, finally, and Scully raises his eyebrows at him. "You must have woken up at four in the morning to have the coffee ready before sunrise." Scully shrugs.

"Could be that I've gotten more used to Rawling's snoring than I realized," he says. "Maybe I can't relax in silence anymore."

"I can try and snore next time, if you want," Mulder offers. "Maybe talk in my sleep a little. Would that help?" Scully shakes his head, but he's smiling.

"You mumbled enough this morning," Scully informs him. Mulder is vaguely uneasy at the idea; Scully dislikes whenever Mulder brings up Diana in conversation, and would probably be even less impressed to hear that he'd been dreaming about her.

Footsteps approach from behind Mulder's tent, and he and Scully turn to see Colonel Skinner approaching. They put their cups of coffee on the ground and start to clamber to their feet, but Skinner waves them back down.

"As you were, gentlemen," he says. He crouches down by the fire as the other two resume drinking, taking a stick and poking at the embers. "Colonel Vincent has just ridden through and has ordered me to get everyone up and ready to march within the hour. We're less than forty miles from Gettysburg and the brigade is wanted there as quickly as possible."

"What's the latest word on where things stood at sundown yesterday?" asks Mulder.

"The last I heard, Lee's men pushed Buford's cavalry and Reynolds' boys back through the town, but they were able to take control of the majority of the high ground." He drops the stick into the fire and hangs his head, sighing heavily. "The word is... General Reynolds is dead." Mulder and Scully look at each other, eyes wide. "Shot through the head. Dead before he fell from his horse, most likely."

"Did you... did you know him, Sir?" Mulder asks hesitantly, but Skinner shakes his head.

"We weren't at West Point at the same time," he says. "I knew _of_ him, of course. Good man. Good commander. He'll be difficult to replace." With another sigh, Skinner stands. "Go on and get your men up and moving, Captain Mulder," he says. "This is going to be a hell of a long day." He moves off, leaving Mulder to down the rest of his coffee in one swallow, nearly choking on the bitterness, before standing and rousing the company to its feet.

The regiment is formed and ready before the sun has fully risen, the twentieth Maine in front of them, ready to lead the way again. When the command comes, they set off, at a faster pace than yesterday, and Mulder hopes fervently that the heat will not be as extreme today. Most of the men who had been taken down by it yesterday are on their feet again this morning, but it won't take much to exhaust them again. But for awhile, at least, their luck seems to hold, and while the day is unmistakably warm, it's short of being scorching, and none of the men are lost to heat stroke.

After several hours, the men begin to hear the sporadic, concussive booming of distant cannons, and the tension in the air around them seems to suddenly increase in anticipation. All light-hearted conversation grinds to a halt, and most of the men are quiet, much the same as they had been during yesterday's march. In the silence, listening to the artillery still miles away, Mulder has time to begin, yet again, to wonder how he will fare today, faced with the task of commanding his men, most of whom are older (and many of whom are more experienced) than he is. He's held his own thus far, it's true... but he has a strong suspicion that the action they'll be seeing today will be nothing like what they've experienced thus far. He'd like to think he'll be able to stand tall, to set a good example for his men, to rally them and give them courage no matter what happens... but can any man truly know that about himself until the moment is at hand?

Mulder feels a gentle nudge on his left side, and looks down to see Scully, elbowing him softly. His blue eyes are staring sternly up at him, and Mulder gets the feeling that, like usual, his friend is reading his mind.

"Stop worrying," Scully hisses at him. "You're making me worry, and I can't shoot nearly as well if my hands are shaking." Mulder snorts.

"Nothing ever makes your hands shake, Scully," he says, but again, he's feeling better already. "Just stick close to me, all right?" Scully cocks an inquisitive eyebrow up at him. "I just... I get the feeling I might need you to keep on telling me not to worry, now and again." Scully grins.

"I can do that," he says. "But I'm telling you, you're not going to need me to. You're going to be absolutely fine."

The regiment stops briefly sometime around mid-day, but they're moving again in less than a half hour, driving relentlessly westward through the Pennsylvania countryside. The sounds of cannon fire are constant now, and a nervous energy has begun to infect the entire regiment, running so thick that even the officers' horses can feel it. They toss their heads and whicker, jerking at their reins, pawing restlessly at the earth whenever they stop.

There's a murmuring sound next to Mulder, and he looks over to see Scully speaking quietly to Halsey, who appears to be trying desperately to get his breathing under control. Mulder can't hear what Scully is saying, but his voice is quiet and soothing, and gradually, Halsey seems to gain mastery over himself. Scully reaches out and grasps Halsey's hand in his own, and the two men bow their heads in unison as they march. Mulder can see Scully's lips moving quickly, and he realizes that the soldiers are praying together. It's not something that's ever helped Mulder himself, but if it helps his men, he has no objection. And sure enough, when Halsey looks up and releases Scully's hand, he looks to be in control, ready to face what the day holds in store for him.

Scully glances up at Mulder and quirks the corner of his mouth up in a mischievous grin. "I threw in a word or two for you," he says.

"Good ones, I hope," says Mulder, and Scully's grin broadens.

"Mostly," he says, and Mulder chuckles, suddenly feeling more at ease than he has so far today.

The sounds of musket fire close at hand has joined the sounds of the cannons when the brigade grinds suddenly to a halt. Colonel Vincent rides up to Colonel Skinner and has a quick word with him, then continues down the line to the Twentieth Maine to update their colonel, as well. Skinner calls his captains out, off to the side of the line, and they huddle around him.

"There's a hill nearby, a location of strategic importance, and it's been left undefended by either side," he tells them. "Colonel Vincent has volunteered our brigade to go up there, take it before Lee's men do, and hold it against any and all attacks." He looks from one man's face to another to be sure they've understood. "I want each of you to find out how well supplied your companies are, how many rounds of ammunition each man has. Understand?" They nod, and Skinner returns them to their companies to make the requested assessments before the regiment begins moving again.

The brigade marches double-time up the side of the small, rocky hill, men occasionally stumbling over branches, downed saplings, and stones in the rough terrain, dodging around trees, ascending higher and higher. When at last they're called to a halt, nearly every soldier in the regiment is breathing hard. Mulder takes a cautious sip from his canteen, mindful of the fact that he doesn't know how how long his supply of water will need to last, and the day's heat is likely to seem magnified tenfold by the fire, smoke, and stress of battle.

Skinner and his lieutenants stride up and down the line, positioning companies, moving men around, making certain that there are no gaps in the line that could be exploited by attacking rebel troops. They're flush on the right side with the forty-fourth New York; their left flank is jammed against the twentieth Maine. As the men of Mulder's company break out their spades and begin digging shallow trenches and piling up rocks to build a makeshift wall from behind which they can shoot, Scully motions for him to lean over so that the shorter man can speak directly into his ear.

"There's no one next to the Maine boys," he tells Mulder. "Did you notice that?"

"I didn't," Mulder admits grudgingly. But as he looks, he can see that it's true: in the distance, beyond Chamberlain's regiment, there's nothing but woods and a downhill slope.

"You know what that means, though, right?" Mulder nods shortly. "The rest of the brigade- the rest of the whole damn army, I think- is on our right side. Which means-"

"We're going to get hit hard," Mulder says, completing the sentence for Scully, who nods shortly. Lee's men will concentrate hard on this hill, knowing that if they can turn the left-hand flank and take the entire army from behind, they’ll be able to gain control of all of the high ground in the process.

The coming fight is going to be nothing short of brutal.

Mulder's men, he knows, have between thirty-five and fifty rounds of ammunition apiece, a fact that he has reported to Colonel Skinner, who seemed to think that it will be enough to get them through what's coming. He sets off walking up and down the line, helping his men with the construction of the wall, taking a collapsible spade from a soldier busy carrying rocks and helping to dig out trenches.

Colonel Vincent and his retinue make their way down the line of soldiers, stopping to speak to Colonel Skinner before continuing on to speak to Colonel Chamberlain of the Twentieth Maine. Mulder can't overhear what is being said, but the men's faces are serious and stern, and he thinks it likely that Vincent is reiterating what Private Scully had surmised earlier: the brigade's position in the line is critical, and this ground must be defended at all costs. They are likely to see heavy losses before the day is over. Mulder reflects, grimly, that Halsey's premonitions stand a good chance of coming true after all.

Mulder's gaze strays to Private Scully, busily adjusting his position on the ground behind the stone wall. He lies flat on his stomach and rests the muzzle of his rifle in a divot between two rocks, lines up the sight, frowns, and moves the gun to a lower spot on the wall. He seems to sense Mulder looking at him and glances up, giving his captain a cocky, carefree grin that Mulder just barely manages to return.

There are no guarantees in a war. Mulder knows this. He knows that some men, having lost friends, brothers, even, during earlier battles, have decided that it's easier not to get close to anyone at all. A tiny part of him, the part that causes his stomach to clench in agony at the very idea of Scully being killed, can see how this might be a sensible outlook to have. But when he thinks of all of the hours he's spent with Scully, sharing meals, conversation, jokes, and sometimes just comfortable moments of quiet, he can't imagine the loneliness he knows he would experience otherwise. He's never had a friend like Scully, has never had someone that he can rely on so fully, and he wouldn't trade that for anything.

Scully is still watching Mulder, but he's not smiling anymore, and Mulder can tell, almost as though he can hear the young man speaking aloud, that Scully is thinking along the same lines. Mulder gives him a short, wordless nod, and together, they turn their faces downhill to await the coming assault.

They're not kept in suspense for long. Within minutes, an eerie, unearthly sound begins to drift up the hillside towards them, a ululating wail that makes Mulder's hair stand on end. He has no idea who in the Confederate army is responsible for the concept of the rebel yell, but there's no doubt that it's extremely effective in its execution. All around him, Mulder's men are nervously shifting position on the ground, breathing hard, staring intently ahead.

"Take your time and aim well," he calls out to them, and he's gratified to find that his voice is steady. "Fire too fast, and you'll just be wasting ammo. Dig in deep, stay low, and make every shot count. Understood?" His men's answering "Aye," in spite of the fear in their eyes, is loud and strong.

Below them, through gaps in the trees, figures in grey are beginning to materialize, and around him, Mulder feels the regiment take a collective deep breath. "Take aim!" he calls to his men, and as one, they lower their eyes to their muskets, choosing their target from amongst the enemy soldiers that are just beginning to come into range. "Ready!" A musket ball slams into a tree ten feet to Mulder's left, and he knows it's time. " _FIRE!_ "

His shout is echoed on either side by the regiment's other captains, and the woods is suddenly alive with the deafening sound of musket fire. Some of the men in grey fall, but new ones appear immediately to take their place. Through the haze of gunpowder, Mulder sees the soldiers in front taking aim, and he ducks behind a tree moments before shots whiz by him. There's a wet, meaty sound as some of the bullets find their marks, and several of the men on the ground cry out. Mulder looks only long enough to be certain that Scully is not one of them, and then his attention is back on the advancing line of grey as he gives the order to reload.

As the rebels advance, straggling up the slope, new men constantly appearing to take the places of those shot down, Mulder sinks into a such an intense state of total concentration that time seems to stop around him. Fear vanishes as pure adrenaline takes over, as the thought that he could die at any moment is forced from his conscious mind. Instinct directs his every decision, as he ducks among his men, rallying them, encouraging them, ordering them to reload and fire again and again, until finally, as the men in grey come within fifty yards of the wall, he tells them to fire at will.

After an indeterminate amount of time- to Mulder it feels like an hour, but in reality he knows it's probably been only minutes- the Confederates fall back beyond the reach of the Union muskets. A hoarse cheer goes up from the regiment, but Mulder knows- and so do the men- that their enemy is only regrouping, that in moments, they'll be charging right back up the hill, fresh soldiers at their back. General Lee's best hope, Mulder knows, is to break the Union's flank, and he will have ordered his generals to show no mercy to the men on this hill.

Sure enough, the wail of the rebel yell grows in volume once more. "Here they come again, boys!" shouts Mulder, and his men lower themselves behind the stone wall yet again. He catches sight of Scully, flat on his belly with his rifle balanced in front of him, an expression of deadly calm on his face. He looks, suddenly, far older than he is, older, even, than he claims to be, and Mulder, who has never given much thought to God and has never had much time for prayer, finds himself praying, now, for his friend to survive this fight.

The rebels fight with increased ferocity this time, pushing harder, getting closer. Mulder does his best to take his time aiming his pistol, but in the smoke and confusion, he's never sure whether or not any of his shots are hitting their targets. He stops, reloads, and begins to fire again, mentally readjusting the number of rounds he now has left, wondering how many the men of his company have. He berates himself for not finding out what they'd had left during the lull in fighting, and resolves to check with them the moment the opportunity presents itself. If they manage to push the rebels back again, he'll likely have to give the dreaded order to take cartridge boxes from the dead and wounded... which will mean finding out for certain who they've lost.

At the thought of naming the dead men, Mulder's concentration breaks enough for him to glance down at Scully again... and it's as his eyes are searching out his friend that it happens. He hears the whine of a passing musket ball, a sharp _CRACK_ somewhere just behind him, and there's a sudden, sharp pain in the back of his head. The world around him wavers and goes grey, and as Mulder falls to the ground, he hears Scully's voice, high and terrified, calling out his name. _Stay down, you fool_ , he has time to think, as vertigo overcomes him and he sinks to the ground.

He's not certain if he loses consciousness completely; all he knows is that when he's once again fully aware of his surroundings, the first thing he makes out is a pair of bright blue eyes, filled to the brim with worry, hovering over him. From there, his vision expands outward over pale skin, freckles tossed over a small, sharp nose, narrow shoulders in a blue uniform, and red hair spilling out of a blue cap.

"Scully," he murmurs, and his friend's face immediately floods with relief.

"Don't move too much," he tells Mulder sternly. "Where are you hurt?"

"Back of the head," Mulder says, and Scully helps him to sit up.

"Can't be too bad, then, or you'd be dead already," says Scully, false bravado doing little to hide the terror in his voice. Even through his disorientation (which, thankfully, is fading quickly), Mulder is gratified by his friend's obvious concern. Gentle fingers probe at the back of his scalp, and a moment later, there's a quick, mild sting, gone in an instant. Scully pulls a handkerchief from his uniform pocket and holds it to the back of Mulder's head, then shows Mulder a tiny, jagged piece of rock in his other hand.

"Just shrapnel," Scully says. "The bullet must have hit the boulder behind you. You've got a cut where this was embedded, but it didn't go deep enough to do any real damage." Mulder takes the little chip of rock in his hand and examines it, his eyes wide. "You were lucky," says Scully shortly, and Mulder nods. Glancing back down the slope of the hill, he sees that the rebels have melted back into the trees.

"How long was I out?" he asks Scully.

"Not more than a couple of minutes," Scully says. "We pushed them back right again right after you went down." He chews his lip nervously. "They'll be back soon, though. And I don't know about the rest of the men... but I'm starting to run short on ammunition." Mulder reaches behind his head, taking over the job of holding Scully's handkerchief in place. Under Scully's watchful eye, he stands up, and steeling himself, he takes a look at what's left of his company.

It's not as terrible as he had thought it might be. Out of the seventy-eight men Mulder has under his command, eleven are dead, sixteen are badly wounded enough that they're no longer able to fight, and twenty-one are sporting injuries of less severity, everything from minor bullet grazes to flesh wounds in the arm or leg. Battlefield medics are already seeing to some of the injured.

"Have the men do a count," Mulder tells Scully, "and find out how many rounds everyone has left. Get what you can from...." He swallows. "From anyone no longer able to fight." Scully nods his understanding; it's not necessary to specify that they will be looting the cartridge boxes of the dead.

Colonel Skinner approaches Mulder, his face smudged with gunpowder, his hat askew atop his bald head, and peers over at Mulder, frowning. "Are you well, Captain Mulder?" he asks, voice gruffly concerned.

"Well enough, Sir," says Mulder. "Took a bit of shrapnel to the back of the head, but Private Scully tells me it's nothing to be concerned about." Skinner nods shortly.

"And your men?"

"We're beginning to run low on ammunition, Sir," Mulder tells him. "We're taking what we can from men on the ground, but another attack from the enemy could completely exhaust our supplies." Again, Skinner nods. He moves closer to Mulder, close enough that the men around them will not be able to overhear their conversation.

"A soldier from the Twentieth Maine was just here, asking us if any of our men had any ammunition to spare," Skinner admits. "I had to send him back with word that we're running low ourselves. The other captains report that their men are almost out, same as yours." Skinner looks around once more, then lowers his voice even further. "And word is, from further down the line, that Colonel Vincent is down, badly injured. Possibly mortally wounded." Mulder's heart sinks. He doesn't know Colonel Strong Vincent personally, but he's well-liked by his men, a strong and decisive commander, a man the brigade follows, and follows readily. General Reynolds yesterday, Colonel Vincent today... how many other irreplaceable leaders will the army lose before the battle is done?

"What are your orders, Sir?" Mulder asks.

"Continue as you are, for now," says Skinner. "Gather as many rounds from the fallen and from the wounded as you can. If enough time goes by before the next assault, you may send some men out beyond the wall to collect cartridge boxes from the downed rebels. But only those closest to our line, and only while being covered by your sharpshooters, do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir," says Mulder, glancing over at Scully, who is settling back into his vantage point behind the stone wall, settling his rifle into position to await the next assault.

It's not long in coming. Colonel Skinner has scarcely left Mulder's side when the eerie sound of the rebel yell begins, once again, to grow in volume. Mulder drops down behind the wall next to Scully, who does not look up from his rifle.

"How's your head?" Scully asks.

"Fine," Mulder reassures him. "It doesn't even hurt anymore. Only a scratch, just like you said." Scully nods.

"Let's be sure and keep it that way, all right?" he says.

"Not a bad idea, as far as I'm concerned," Mulder agrees, and they both fall silent, waiting for the men in grey to come within range of their guns. Moments later, though, Scully lowers his rifle and looks down, taking a deep breath.

"Mulder," says Scully, his voice quiet and serious, "I just want to make sure you know... just in case...."

"Scully, no. I'm going to be all right, and so are you, so don't-"

"No, Mulder, listen to me," says Scully, quiet but implacable. He looks up and meets Mulder's eyes... and Mulder sees it again, that strange expression that he recognizes but cannot quite place, that makes him feel at once apprehensive, and strangely warm. "I just want to make sure that you know that I've never-"

"Here they come again!" One of the men calls out, pointing down the hillside. Through the trees, the relentless wave of grey again begins to sweep up the hillside towards them. Scully once again focuses intently on the oncoming soldiers, picking his first target and taking careful aim, as Mulder leaps up into a crouch, drawing his pistol.

The Confederate assault, this time, is stronger and more desperate than any of the ones that have come before. Mulder is certain that this will be the last attempt that the enemy has the strength to make, and as such, the southerners are going to give it everything they've got. If Mulder's regiment and those around them can just hold out a little while longer, they'll be able to hold the position, and the day will be theirs.

The problem is, Mulder is not certain they've got enough left in them to do it.

There's a loud curse to Mulder's left as the first of his men runs out of ammunition. Mulder looks down to see the man desperately patting every pocket of his uniform and every pouch on his belt, searching in vain for a round he might have missed in his earlier haste, but he has nothing. Further down the line, another soldier is relieving a newly-dead comrade of his cartridge box, his face crumpling in dismay when he discovers that this man, too, had run out of rounds to fire.

Scully, Mulder notices, has not run out of ammunition yet, but that doesn't surprise him. Scully is meticulous with every single shot he attempts, taking the time to aim properly, to make each and every round count, to not waste a single bullet. But all around him, other men are running down to empty, grasping desperately for stones on the ground to throw when the enemy gets close enough, drawing knives and bayonets in anticipation of hand-to-hand combat when the rebels inadvertently breach their line.

Glancing down the slope, Mulder desperately gauges the distance from the wall to the closest fallen Confederate soldiers. The nearest are lying less than twenty-five yards away, with the advancing troops coming up the hillside some forty or so yards beyond that. There's an excellent chance that some, if not all of those men have bullets left in their cartridge boxes... but Mulder cannot, in good conscience, send anyone rushing into that no-man's land beyond the meager protection of the makeshift stone wall. Anyone venturing out there will make a perfect target for the oncoming enemy.

Mulder doesn't stop to think about whether or not it's a good idea- he knows full well that it's not. He doesn't ask Colonel Skinner's permission. He doesn't order, or even ask anyone to come with him. In one quick motion, Mulder leaps up and over the stone wall and dashes down the slope to the nearest grey-clad body. He can hear Scully yelling behind him, telling him to come back for God's sake, calling him an idiot when he doesn't listen. He keeps as low to the ground as he can as bullets whiz around him, trying his best to stay close to the thickest of the tree trunks between him and his objective.

"Stop shooting!" he hears Scully shouting. "Sharpshooters only, or you'll hit the captain!" Mulder can almost picture the fifteen or so men in his company who have demonstrated the highest skill in shooting steadying their muskets, trying to take out each rebel soldier they see aiming before the man has time to fire. In his mind, Mulder thanks Scully profusely for taking charge of the situation. If they get out of this, he'll see to it that his friend is promoted to sergeant at the very least.

By some miracle, Mulder manages to relieve eleven fallen men of their cartridge boxes... and by an even bigger miracle, every single one feels promisingly, gratifyingly heavy in his hands. The twelfth soldier he approaches, however, is still alive- though he clearly will not be for long- and does he best to hang onto his belt. Mulder tries desperately not to meet the dying man's eyes as he jerks the ammunition from his hands and backs quickly away. _That's enough_ , he thinks to himself, and turning, he dashes back up the hillside and scrambles over the stone wall. Immediately, he hands the cartridge boxes to the men standing nearest to him.

"Distribute those among whoever's run out of ammunition," he orders, and sinks to the ground behind the wall's protection, gasping as he tries to get his breath back.

"You're absolutely insane, do you know that?" Scully says, wiggling to his left to get closer to Mulder. "Completely out of your mind. Do you have any idea how close you just came to getting shot?"

"I've got a vague notion, yes," says Mulder flatly. Glancing up and over the wall, he realizes, with a sudden jolt, how close the advancing line has come. They must have been less than fifteen yards from him when he had made the decision to get back to relative safety. He draws his pistol again, taking aim and getting ready to fire. "At least we've got a few more rounds now," he says. Scully says nothing; he simply resumes shooting, but his expression is nothing short of furious. Mulder is going to hear a good deal about this later, if they're both lucky enough to survive the day.

The rebels continue, inexorably, to advance, but Mulder's regiment makes them pay dearly for every inch of ground they gain. One way or another, this is it: should it transpire that the rebels do, in fact, have enough left in them for another assault if this one fails, the men defending the hill will not have the strength to repel them. Mulder is just considering taking another assessment of how much ammunition his men have left, when suddenly, there's a loud, raucous cry further down the line, away to the left, where the Twentieth Maine holds the Union flank. Mulder turns, his heart in his throat, fearing they've been overrun at last... and his mouth drops open as he witnesses an incredible sight.

The men of the Twentieth Maine, bayonets fixed firmly on the ends of their empty muskets, are leaping over the wall as one, screaming at an earsplitting volume as they charge down the slope into the advancing rebel soldiers. Their officers are in front of them, sabers held aloft, rallying their men as they sweep down and to the right, empty rifles held in front of them in a desperate, last-ditch attempt to hang onto the ground they have been tasked with defending.

The Confederates stop, pause, and turn towards the coming onslaught... and then, faster than Mulder would have thought possible, they're running, stumbling down the hill away from the onrushing troops. Mulder and his men watch, their mouths hanging open, as the entire rebel force is driven away, borne aloft on a wave of men in blue like driftwood carried out to sea by a relentless riptide. The men in blue raise their voices as one, cheering the Maine men on, relief breaking over them as they realize that there is no way the rebels will ever be able to muster another onslaught, not after this.

Closer at hand, the four or five rebel soldiers who had ventured the furthest forward form the rest of their comrades, who had gotten so close to the line that the Maine regiment had charged down the hill _behind_ them, drop their weapons and raise their hands in surrender... all but one. Mulder turns just in time to see a Confederate officer, fury in his eyes and a pistol in his hands, raising his weapon, taking careful aim at Mulder's head from a stone's throw away. Mulder's own weapon is empty, pointing uselessly at the ground, and he holds his breath, closes his eyes, and waits for the feel of a bullet ripping through his skull.

 _BANG_.

Mulder shudders at the sound of the shot... but when he opens his eyes, the rebel officer is falling, his hands clutching at his chest.

Looking around, Mulder sees Scully, the muzzle of his musket smoking, aimed directly at the man who had very nearly ended Mulder's life. He lowers the weapon and turns, meeting his captain's gaze. They say nothing... but the look of relief on the younger man's face is so intense that it nearly brings tears to Mulder's eyes. He walks slowly along the line until he and Scully stand face-to-face. Letting his breath out heavily, Mulder drops his head and claps one hand to Scully's narrow shoulder, holding it there, hoping that he can convey, with a touch, everything that he cannot find the words to express.


	3. Chapter 3

JULY 2, 1863  
GETTYSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA

Gradually, the thick musket smoke begins to clear, and the regiment sets about taking stock of its losses. Mulder and his men begin the dreaded, painful process of identifying their dead, all of them clinging to a faint hope as they cautiously nudge each still figure lying on the ground, praying to themselves that the man has only been knocked unconscious and will spring back to his feet at any moment, good as new. Once in a great while this turns out to be the case... but for the most part, these men have been lost. The surviving soldiers carefully relieve the bodies of their personal effects, their photographs and their saved letters and their bibles, stowing them away to be sent back home to their families at the first opportunity. 

Scully approaches Mulder, his freckled face downcast and a good deal paler than usual. He's clutching a folded, bloodstained piece of paper in his hand, which is shaking slightly.

"What's that you've got there, Private?" Mulder asks, as Scully stops in front of him. In answer, Scully unfolds the piece of paper, which, on closer inspection, Mulder can see is a relatively brief letter, written in Scully's own careful hand.

The name signed at the bottom of the page, however, is Private James Halsey's.

"I'll have to copy it over again before I sent it," Scully says, his voice subdued. "I don't want his wife and son to have to read his final words on a piece of paper stained with his blood." Mulder nods stiffly.

"That's probably wise," he agrees, his voice breaking. Scully pretends not to notice as he folds the letter back up and tucks it away, and together, they continue with the grim and grisly work of identifying the lost, of doing their best to make sure that no family back at home will be left wondering about the fate of their husbands or their brothers, their fathers or their sons.

Colonel Skinner approaches Mulder's company some time later, looking exhausted, but grim and determined. Mulder salutes him.

"Captain Mulder, what are your losses?" Skinner asks as he returns the salute.

"Twenty-nine dead, thirty-one badly wounded enough to be carried off, and thirty-three more with minor injuries, Sir," Mulder reports. "None missing, all accounted for in one way or another. More than half of my men are completely out of ammunition. Out of the rest of them, no one has more than five rounds left." Skinner nods shortly.

"I've had the same report from the other companies," he says.

"When do you think that can we expect to be re-supplied, Sir?" asks Mulder. 

"I don't know for sure, Captain," says Skinner. "Colonel Vincent's aide was here moments ago to tell me that we're to be taken off of the hill within the next half hour or so. They don't expect another attack on this position tonight; the sun has set, and Colonel Chamberlain's men have driven the rebels far enough back that they won't have time to mount another offense. It's likely they won't have the manpower, either; the regiments charging this hill will have taken heavy losses."

"What have you heard about Colonel Vincent's condition?" Mulder asks apprehensively, and Skinner's sober countenance tells him all that he needs to know.

"He's not expected to survive for more than a few days," Skinner says quietly. Much of Mulder's relief at the day's fighting being over evaporates. "There's no news yet on who will be taking his place at the head of the Third Brigade." Skinner suddenly fixes Mulder with a stern look. "And while we're on the topic of officers being injured, Captain Mulder, would you like to explain to me what in God's name you were thinking when you decided to run into a charging regiment of enemy soldiers?"

"I was only doing what you told me, Sir," argues Mulder. "You told me to take ammunition from the nearest fallen rebel men, if at all feasible."

"I _said_ ," huffs Skinner, "that if there was time, _before_ they charged again, you were to order your men to take ammunition from fallen rebels. I did _not_ say that you should go dashing out there on your own, while in easy range of their guns."

"There wasn't enough time to give the order before they hit us again," says Mulder. "And I wasn't about to order any of my men to go out there, not if I wasn't willing to do it myself, first. And one way or another, it got us enough ammunition to hold them back long enough for the Twentieth Maine to mount their charge." Colonel Skinner glowers at him a moment longer, then heaves a sigh.

"Well, I suppose that it's over and done now," he says. "Any minute now, we'll be relieved and sent back behind the lines to rest for the night. I don't know what tomorrow will bring, but I would hazard a guess that we won't be put into action again unless we're absolutely needed. But just in case we are... rest up, and make sure that all of your men do, as well."

As Skinner trudges off to deliver the same message to the rest of his captains, Mulder sinks down to sit on a boulder, watching, exhausted, as the stretcher bearers of the ambulance corps wind their way carefully through the trees and rocks, transporting wounded men off of the hill for treatment at a field hospital. The burial detail will be through soon, Mulder thinks, to bear away all of the men, from both sides, who have been lost today.

Mulder senses more than sees Private Scully sitting down next to him, moments later. Neither speaks; they simply watch in silence as the injured are carried away. The magnitude of what has happened here, of the number of men they've lost today, both in Mulder's company and in the regiment on the whole, is just beginning to sink in, now that the adrenaline rush of having won the day's fight is dying away. Mulder lowers his head, momentarily overcome. The sudden dryness in his throat becomes unbearable, and he fumbles for his canteen at his belt, only to find that it is, at long last, empty.

A movement at the edge of his vision catches Mulder's eye, and he turns to see Private Scully offering him his own canteen. Mulder takes it, gratefully, and takes long, cool drink before handing it back to his friend.

"I kept it full," says Scully. "Just like you told me to." Mulder smiles and nods his approval. Scully puts the canteen back on his belt, and the two lapse back into silence... but already, Mulder is beginning to feel better, comforted by nothing more than his friend's steady presence.

It's not long later when a fresh regiment finally arrives to take over the defense of the hill, and Mulder calls what's left of his company into formation. The exhausted regiment troops down the hillside, many of the men almost asleep on their feet, Mulder most certainly among them. He's not quite certain how long they march for, or where, exactly, they're taken; he only knows that eventually, the regiment comes to a halt in a grassy expanse of ground underneath a copse of trees that will, come morning, provide them with comfortable shade. Tents are not set up tonight; the supply wagons are still at the rear of the line, and anyway, there's no telling what could happen in the morning. Even though the regiment may not see any action tomorrow, they will still need to be ready to get on their feet and move wherever they're needed at a moment's notice.

The moment that the order is given to fall out, Mulder sinks heavily to the ground next to a slender willow tree, and Private Scully crouches down next to him. Scully seems marginally more awake than Mulder, but not by very much.

"Let me have a look at your head, Mulder," he says. "Before you go to sleep. It should be cleaned out as much as possible." Mulder's only answer is to groan, but he rolls obligingly onto his side so that Scully can examine his scalp in the last of the day's fading light. He feels gentle fingers sifting carefully through his hair, and he hisses when Scully makes contact with the wound. "I'm just going to pour a little bit of water over it, all right?" he asks, and Mulder grunts a response. He hears a faint clatter as Scully removes the canteen from his belt again; then, moments later, there's the pleasant sensation of cool water on the back of his head.

"Feels good," he mumbles sleepily. 

"I've got one clean handkerchief left," says Scully. "I'm going to use it to bind your head, all right?"

"S'all right," mumbles Mulder, very nearly asleep, but still enjoying the feeling of Scully's fingers buried in his hair. It's oddly soothing, and it's somehow making him even more sleepy. Scully winds the handkerchief around his head and knots it in the front, near Mulder's forehead, so that it won't bother him if he rolls over during the night.

The last thing that Mulder is conscious of, before sleep pulls him under fully, is Private Scully stretching out next to him, just close enough so that their arms brush softly against one another.

They wake, only hours later, to the apocalypse.

The sound of cannon fire is so loud that at first, Mulder can't even figure out which army is doing the shooting. He flips reflexively onto his stomach almost before he's fully awake, his hands clasped protectively over his head, and next to him, Scully has assumed the same position. They both wriggle on their stomachs until they're closer to the trees under which they've sheltered for the night, searching blindly for any meager protection that they can get.

It's still dark out, but there's a faint pink glow away on the eastern horizon that suggests that dawn is not too far off. Mulder, fully awake now, finally understands that while the artillery fire is coming from both the Confederate army's and the Union army's cannons, their specific regiment does not seem to be the target. For the moment, they're not in danger. 

The shelling continues, on and on, until Mulder begins to believe that this thunderous roaring will be unceasing, that it will never, ever end. All around him, men are ducking their heads between their knees, clapping their arms tightly over their ears, trying in vain to shut out the cacophony. Next to Mulder, Scully's shoulders are hunched, but the blank expression on his face suggests that the young private is elsewhere, mentally retreating somewhere inside his mind, away from the hell on earth that serves as their current place of residence.

The sun comes up, the bombardment goes on, and and Mulder finds himself, against all odds, growing sleepy again. He tries to keep his eyes open, but before long, he's slumping sideways. He jerks sharply upright as his head makes contact with Scully's shoulder, but the young private gives him a wry smile and pats the spot where Mulder's head had just been resting. Mulder can almost hear his friend's voice, though Scully does not speak: _It's all right, go on, I don't mind_. He grins gratefully, albeit a little sheepishly, and allows his head to drop back down onto Scully's shoulder again.

He wakes again from his light doze when a soldier arrives with a sack full of hardtack biscuits for the regiment to share. As unappetizing as Mulder (and all of the men, really) finds the difficult-to-chew and often worm-infested biscuits, it's all that's available for them to eat at the moment. Mulder's stomach is so empty by now that it's starting to become painful, and so he resigns himself to sucking at the edge of a piece of hardtack until it becomes soft enough to actually eat.

Sometime around one o'clock in the afternoon, the pitch and ferocity of the noise changes suddenly. The sounds of cannons are closer now, and it seems to occur to the entire regiment at the same time that it would be wise for all of them to be ready to move at a moment's notice. He and Scully climb to their feet and gather up their discarded gear, as all around them, the other men are doing the same. Colonel Skinner approaches, buckling his saber as he walks towards them.

"Some kind of attack is coming," he tells Mulder. "It looks like the Confederates are going to try to hit the center of the line, of all places. Doubtless they're trying to weaken our defenses with heavy artillery before attacking, once they think that they've taken out some of our guns."

"The center of the line?" asks Mulder in disbelief. "That doesn't seem like something that General Lee would do." Skinner shrugs.

"That's just what I've heard," he says. "Yesterday he tried to hit us on both flanks, and our lines didn't break, so today he's going to try the center. It's possible that he thinks that our defenses are lighter there."

"Are they?" asks Scully.

"Not particularly," says Skinner. "And even if they were, they certainly won't be for very long. I've just received our orders, and as soon as the cannons go quiet, we're to make our way towards the center of the line to be held in reserve against the enemy's eventual attack." Mulder and Scully exchange worried glances.

"My men are exhausted, Sir," says Mulder. "We have next to no ammunition. How much help are we really going to be able to provide?"

"Hopefully, we won't be asked to provide any," says Skinner. "And if worst comes to worst and they do need us, I have to assume that they'll be able to provide us with more ammunition."

Mulder gathers his company together, so that when the shelling ceases and the orders come, it will take less time to get them into formation- a difficult task, given the concussive volume of the ceaseless bombardment, not to mention his men's exhaustion and skittishness. Most of them are still on edge after the brutality of yesterday's fight, and none of them have gotten anywhere near enough rest (or food, for that matter) to have overcome their weariness.

Less than half an hour later, though the shelling is still going on, Colonel Skinner appears and gives the order for what's left of the regiment to assemble and to follow him to their next position. They make their way along a road (Mulder catches sight of a sign identifying it as the Taneytown Road) northward, behind the Union line, along a ridge, through woods, and out into an open field. The little town of Gettysburg can just be glimpsed through the heavy smoke from the Union's cannons.

The regiment has very nearly reached its destination when, at last, the cannon fire suddenly ceases, and the silence left behind in its wake seems nothing short of unnatural. The men look at one another uneasily, wondering what this new development might portend, wondering what's coming next.

Skinner orders the regiment to a halt just off the tree-lined road, some two hundred yards back from the center of the Union line, where waiting troops are massed on a long, low ridge. Though no order is given to fall out, many of the men sink down to sit in the tall grass, and when Skinner makes no motion to stop any of them, Mulder follows his colonel's lead. It makes sense, he supposes, for the men to try and conserve their strength as they wait to find out whether or not they'll be needed today.

There's a sudden commotion amongst the troops waiting up on the ridge, with captains rushing back to stand with their respective companies, colonels and lieutenants both jumping up onto and leaping off of their horses, men everywhere preparing for a distant threat that Mulder cannot yet see.

A quick movement to his right catches Mulder's eye, and he turns just in time to see Private Scully pulling himself into the low-hanging branches of a tall oak tree.

"Can't see what's going on up there, not from this far back," he says, glancing down at Mulder before beginning to climb again. He continues until he's perhaps about twenty feet up, then stops. There's silence for several seconds... then, Mulder hears him swear in a low voice.

"What is it, Private?" Mulder calls up to him. "What can you see?" Still, there's silence. "Scully! What can you see from up there?"

"I haven't got the words," Scully says, his tone unreadable. Mulder glances around, but Colonel Skinner is not within sight. He turns to the nearest man, a private in his company named Fitzsimmons.

"Call me back down if the colonel approaches, or if we're ordered to move elsewhere," he tells the man, who nods. Mulder turns back to the oak tree and follows his friend up- with slightly more difficulty, and being somewhat more careful of which branches he places his weight. He is, after all, at least a good fifty pounds heavier than Scully. Most of Mulder's concentration is taken up by making his way safely up the tree, so he doesn't get the chance to look out over the field until he's level with Scully... but when he does, the breath is very nearly stolen from his body by the sight that greets him.

Below the ridge where the Union army waits, the ground slopes out to a broad, flat field, lying open for at least a mile until it fades into the woods again. Just under the eaves of those woods, with nothing but grass in between them and the waiting men in blue, Confederate soldiers are massed in numbers beyond counting, their regimental colors hoisted high, their officers leading them, some of them even on horseback, making themselves easy and obvious targets. 

And across the open field, waiting for them, stand row upon row of Union cannons.

"They're all going to be slaughtered," says Mulder, his voice hushed. "They're going to be mowed down, every last one of them." A glance as Scully shows that the young private has come to the same conclusion.

"What can they possibly hope to gain by this?" Scully asks him. "Do they really think that our center is that weak, that we won't be able to repel them if they attack, without cover, from that great of a distance?" Mulder has no answers. Together, he and Scully watch in silence as rank upon rank of soldiers march slowly out and into the open air, further and further from the cover of the trees. From their vantage point, they can see a flurry of activity at the front of their own line, as soldiers load the cannons, ram the shot home, and retreat to safety behind the wheels. Mulder wants desperately to look away, but finds that he cannot, as the fuses are lit, the cannons go off, and enormous, bloody holes are blown into the Confederate lines. 

And still, the men in grey keep coming.

There's a quiet, strangled sound from next to him, and Mulder turns to see tears in Scully's eyes. He reaches out, holding tighter to his branch with his other hand, and puts a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. Scully reaches up and covers it with his own, and together, wordlessly, they watch in absolute horror as an entire division of Confederate soldiers is mercilessly destroyed. They get closer to the Union lines than Mulder could ever have imagined they would, so close that the fighting devolves into hand-to-hand combat in some places... but their defeat, in the end, is inevitable, and when the beleaguered lines of grey finally break and run, the number of men able to retreat back across the field to the cover of the trees is devastatingly small. 

"That must be the end of it," Scully says, his voice broken and desperate. "Right? Mulder? There's no possible way that General Lee could try to attack again, not after that. Is there?" Mulder doesn't see how he could... but, then, he doesn't understand how a commander of Lee's brilliance could ever have ordered the sort of attack they have just witnessed, either.

"Come on," he tells Scully heavily. "Let's get back down there and find out what's going to happen next."


	4. Chapter 4

JULY 4, 1863  
GETTYSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA

When Mulder wakes, late on the morning of July the fourth, the first thing that he sees, when he rolls over, is Private Scully, curled tightly into a ball on the ground, less than a foot away from him. He's momentarily confused- Scully hadn't been in his tent when he'd gone to sleep last night- but then there's a fuzzy memory, suddenly, of Scully coming in sometime in the middle of the night, his face ashen and his hands shaking, and asking Mulder (who hadn't even woken up fully) whether he might sleep in here with him. Mulder had agreed readily, and had gone back to sleep at once.

Now, watching the slight, red-haired man sleep, curled in on himself as though in protection from the world around him, Mulder is reminded just how young his friend really is. No one has had a spare minute, over the past three or four days, to sit in front of a mirror and shave, and yet, Scully's face is perfectly smooth, not a shadow of stubble on his pale freckled skin. He could, Mulder realizes with a start, be as young as thirteen or fourteen.  
Most of the time, Mulder gives little thought to figuring out just how young Scully truly is, mainly because he always seems so mature and capable- more so, frequently, than most of the much older men under Mulder's command. But after the past few days... after the ferocity of the fighting on Little Round Top, after the bloody slaughter that they had witnessed together from the branches of the oak tree above Cemetery Ridge, and especially after the hour following last night's dinner that Scully had spent copying the late Private Halsey's final letter to his family onto a fresh, blood-free piece of paper... Mulder wonders if maybe the best thing that he could do for his friend would be to blow the whistle on him, to have him sent home... or, at the very least, placed in the fife and drum corps.

He knows that he probably should... but, selfishly, shamefully, he doesn't want to. And not just because Scully's shooting is invaluable in a fight, either. Everything just seems to be so much more tolerable when he's got Scully around to talk to, to laugh with, to share a comfortable silence with, and Mulder, ashamed as he is to admit it, is loath to give up his sole source of happiness and comfort.

As he watches, Scully stirs, stretches, and opens his blue eyes, blinking sleepily at Mulder. A soft, languid smile plays across his fine features... and Mulder feels, not for the first time, something unquantifiable, something pleasurable but also slightly odd, as he returns Scully's smile. He pushes it away, not willing to dwell on it, and sits up on his sleeping roll, stretching his sore arms up over his head and twisting his back, which pops audibly. He groans and slumps over again.

"I think that I've forgotten what it feels like to sleep in a real bed," he observes, and Scully chuckles.

"It's become a foreign feeling," he agrees wryly. "Just wait, we'll return home, after the war is won, and our poor families will be so confused when we keep climbing out of our nice, comfortable beds to sleep on the bare wooden floor." Mulder laughs.

"My family was used to me wandering around the house at all hours of the night," says Mulder. "I imagine that it won't be too much of an adjustment for them if I continue with it, after the war."

"I was always the soundest sleeper in my family," says Scully. "My mother says that even when I was a very young child, I could and would fall asleep at any time, in any place, and in any position I chose."

"It's definitely a useful skill to have, these days," says Mulder. "I envy you the ability. Right now it's easy enough for me to get to sleep, as exhausted as I am... but you wait and see, when we're camped for the winter and not doing much more than drilling during the day, I'll be wandering around the camp half the night, every night."

"I'll be sure to take naps during the day, then, so that I'll be awake enough to keep you company on your late-night ramblings," says Scully, and Mulder grins at him. The idea of being camped for the winter, with little to do and nowhere to go, is somewhat less dull, with the prospect of Scully's company.

Scully heaves himself heavily into a sitting position, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and scoots across the ground until he's right next to Mulder. "Let me have a look at your head," he says, reaching for the handkerchief still wrapped over Mulder's wound, and Mulder turns obligingly as Scully carefully removes the wrapping. Mulder feels his friend's fingers carefully prodding at the injury, but the discomfort is far less today than it was yesterday. Scully makes a small, satisfied sound and draws his hands away. "It's going to be fine," he tells Mulder, folding up the soiled handkerchief and tucking it into his pocket. "It will probably itch a bit while it's healing up, but it shouldn't cause you any pain."

"Thanks, Scully," says Mulder. Scully waves him off and sets about gathering up the gear he had cast off last night, when he'd ducked into the tent and had asked if he could stay. Mulder does the same. He's shrugging on his uniform coat when suddenly, a thought occurs to him. "You know, Scully," he observes, "I don't think that I've ever seen you take your jacket off to sleep. Don't you get uncomfortable? Especially as hot as it is, this summer?" Scully looks down, not meeting his eyes... and Mulder could swear that his friend's pale cheeks go just the slightest bit pink.

"I don't get overheated all that easily," he says with a shrug. He stands to finish fastening his belt. With a heavy sigh, Mulder rises to his knees, rolls his sleeping roll back up, and straps it to his back, above his pack. Together, he and Scully duck under the tent flap and out into another muggy, overcast July morning.

With no orders to move on yet, the men of the regiment are milling about aimlessly or sitting in groups around the cooking fires, taking advantage of the quiet to finish the job of recuperating from two days of fighting immediately after days of hard marching in high heat. Mulder and Scully settle by a fire alongside other men from their company, but before long, a light rain begins to fall, and they're forced to retreat under the cover of the nearest copse of trees. Sitting and watching the rain, none of the men seem to feel a pressing need to fill the silence with conversation.

"I've been by the field hospital this morning," one of the men, Private Jorgensen, offers, after a time. "Seen some of the men from our outfit. What's left of 'em, anyways."

"That reminds me, I was thinking of doing that myself, before we move on," says Mulder, but Jorgensen shakes his head.

"I wouldn't," he says emphatically. "I wish to God that I hadn't."

"Why's that?" asks Mulder.

"It's a damned disaster over there. Piles of limbs outside the hospital tents, stinkin' to high heaven, covered with flies... the men inside screamin' and cryin' while they die...." He shudders at the memory. "They call those men with the knives surgeons, doctors, but sawbones is all they really are. You get hurt on the arm or the leg, 'take it off,' that's all they say. That's all they know how to do."

"You know nothing about being a field surgeon, Jorgensen. Cutting off the injured limb is all that they _can_ do, most of the time," interjects Scully angrily. Mulder whips his head around to look at him, surprised, and he's not the only one. Jorgensen himself is taken aback; Scully does not often have much to say to Private Jorgensen, in spite of their having shared a tent for months.

"Yeah? And just what would you know about it, Danny Boy?" Jorgensen shoots back, glowering. Scully seems to suddenly feel that he's said to much, and he pauses before he answers.

"My father had... had a friend, back home in West Chester," he answers, somewhat haltingly. "He was a doctor before the war and he volunteered his services as a field surgeon when the fighting broke out. He told us stories of what the field hospitals are like, when he was at home one time, visiting my father. He said that with the number of wounded men that the hospitals take in during a battle, and the dearth of doctors qualified to treat them, more often than not, it's a choice between cutting off the injured limb or allowing the patient to die a slow death from blood poisoning or infection."

Private Jorgensen, having nothing to say in response to that, lapses into a brooding silence, but Mulder looks at Scully curiously. He senses that there is more to this story, that there is something important about this friend of Scully's father that he's choosing not to share. He makes a mental note to ask Scully about it later, hopefully in such a way that the younger man doesn't immediately shut down and stop talking, the way that he usually does when the topic of his family comes up.

The morning drags on into the afternoon with little change in the weather, until at about two o'clock, the bugle call finally sounds for the regiment to break camp and assemble to march. Mulder assists in breaking down the tents and dousing the fires, and then makes his way back to the road with the rest of his men.

It's sobering to see the regiment formally assembled in the light of day, their losses more evident in the drastically contracted size of their companies. The men have closed ranks, and there are no gaps, no holes, but still, the visual proof of the reduction in their numbers is a painful slap in the face.

"I've heard that it's even worse in some of the other regiments," Scully tells him in a low voice, as they take their positions. "Someone told me that the Twenty-Fourth Michigan had three out of every four of their men killed, wounded, or captured." Mulder tries to imagine it, tries to picture a regiment shrunken down to a quarter of its original size in the space of a day, ten companies of men reduced to three, and it hurts his heart. He glances sideways at Scully, and the guilt of knowingly leading someone so young into battles where men face those sorts of odds hits him all over again.

"Scully," he says, his voice low enough not to carry, "I've been meaning to have a word with you." Scully looks up at him, eyebrows raised.

"What about?" he asks. The private next to Scully, a short, stocky man by the name of Emerson, glances over at Scully, smirks, and elbows his neighbor. Mulder curses himself; now is most definitely not the time or place for a private conversation.

"Never mind," he says hastily. "It's not important."

The command is given to march, and they set off. Mulder wonders, distractedly, where they're headed, what's coming next. Colonel Skinner is at the head of the regiment, mounted on his horse, but he hasn't shared the day's plans with any of his captains yet. Mulder has a strong suspicion that even Skinner may not know exactly what's going on. To the best of Mulder's knowledge, no one has officially been given command of the Third Brigade, with Colonel Vincent gone, and for all he knows, Skinner is simply following the regiment in front of them and hoping that they've managed to get sound orders from somewhere.

Without warning, only minutes after the march has begun, the light rain suddenly becomes a deluge, and in no time at all, the packed dirt road upon which they're marching has turned into a river of mud. The going becomes slow, the already-exhausted men having to work even harder to put one foot in front of the other as the mud pulls at their boots, and when whining swarms of mosquitoes find them and begin to set about feasting on whatever exposed flesh they can find, the regiment's misery is complete.

"Times like these," Scully says to Mulder, as he swats yet another mosquito from the back of his hand, "I almost think that maybe my mother was right when she told me that running off and joining the army was a terrible idea."

"It's not too late," Mulder replies. "You can always run off into the woods when no one is paying attention. You're short. This mud is pretty deep. I could tell Colonel Skinner that you got lost in it. I doubt that he would question it." Scully chuffs out a laugh, shaking his head. Inwardly, Mulder marvels: that makes twice today that Scully has brought up his family completely voluntarily. Mulder is definitely going to have to try and capitalize on that later, if he can find the time, and see how much he can get his friend to talk.

The rain tapers off just before sundown, and the men let out a hoarse cheer as the clouds at last begin to disperse. To their collective dismay, however, they soon find that the lack of precipitation makes the marching conditions worse and not better. The road is already nothing but six inches of sticky mud, splashing up at them as they march and flying all over their hands, uniforms, and faces, and without the rain to continually wash it away, it sticks and dries instead.

About an hour after the sun sets, the order is given to halt for the night. Word goes through the ranks that there is a lake less than half a mile off of the road, and many of the men immediately head out in that direction, nearly wild for the chance to cool off after the day's march, to shuck off their filthy uniforms and shed as much of the crusty mud and dirt from their hair and their bodies as possible.

"What do you say, Scully?" asks Mulder, grinning. "Fancy a nice, cool, moonlight swim?" A peculiar look comes over Scully's face, and he shakes his head.

"I'm so hungry, I feel like I might pass out at any moment," he says. "I think I'm going to find something to eat first. I'll go and bathe later." And with that, he's gone, weaving between much taller men until he's lost to Mulder's sight. Feeling more than a little bit perturbed at Scully's odd behavior, Mulder turns with a sigh and starts to follow the men of his company to the lake.

Before he's gotten more than a few feet, though, he's stopped by Colonel Skinner.

"Captain Mulder, I need a word," Skinner says, his face set and grim. Mulder nods shortly and follows him away from the road, away from the regiment, and away from the men heading for the lake. Skinner says nothing until they're well out of earshot of anyone else, at which point the colonel turns to face Mulder.

"I would have preferred to wait until we had a bit more privacy before I spoke with you, Captain," says Skinner, "but the word is that we won't be pitching any tents tonight. We may need to be ready to move quickly at a moment's notice."

"Have you found out anything more about where we're heading, Sir?" asks Mulder, and Skinner nods.

"We're near the back of the line at the moment, so it's unlikely that we'll be the first to see any action... but we're chasing General Lee's men as they retreat to the Potomac River and attempt to cross." Mulder frowns.

"If we're chasing them, Sir," he ventures, "shouldn't we be moving a bit more quickly than this?"

"Should we? Most definitely," says Skinner. "Are we? Clearly not. I honestly have no idea why General Meade is being so cautious. Lee's forces are exhausted and weakened; I have no trouble believing that if we were to press him hard and fast now, we might be able to end this war right here before the week is up." Skinner sighs, shaking his head in disgust. "In any case, however, that's not what I wanted to speak with you about just now." He glances around them, making sure once again that no one else can hear him. "You know, of course, that this brigade does not currently have a commander, with Colonel Vincent on his deathbed."

"Yes, Sir," says Mulder. He thinks that he might know where this is going already.

"I have just been informed that I am to assume command of the brigade, effective immediately." His suspicions confirmed, Mulder's face breaks into a wide smile.

"Congratulations, Sir. It's well-deserved." Mulder means it, too; Colonel Skinner is an excellent leader, strong in tactics, calm in a fight, slow to anger, and utterly devoted to his men.

"Thank you, Captain," says Skinner. "But that's only part of it." Mulder waits, curious. "Our division commander, General Sykes, has asked me to recommend an officer to replace me as colonel of this regiment. My choice will need to be officially approved through channels, of course, but I have been assured that as long as my candidate has no egregious offenses on file against him- which he doesn't, by some miracle- it's guaranteed that the command will be his." Still, Mulder is confused. "I've given General Sykes your name, Captain Mulder. You have my outgoing vote as the new colonel of this regiment."

Mulder's ears, all at once, are filled with an indefinable buzzing sound as he freezes in place, his mind racing to catch up to his hearing, struggling to comprehend what Colonel Skinner has just told him.

"I'm sorry, Sir... what did you say?" Skinner smirks.

"I said that I want you to take over as commander of the Eighty-Third Pennsylvania, once my promotion to the head of the Third Brigade is made formal, Captain Mulder," he says. Still, the information is not quite sinking in.

"You want me... to be a colonel?" asks Mulder haltingly. "In charge? Of all of these men?" Skinner's eyebrows arch at Mulder's confusion.  
"You know, Mulder, your obvious intelligence was one of the factors that played into this decision, but if you're having this much trouble understanding me right now, I may have overestimated you." He shakes his head, as though in exasperation, but he's smiling. "Yes, Mulder, I want you to take charge of all of the men in this regiment. That is, generally speaking, what being in command entails."

"I just... Sir, I..." Mulder swallows hard. "It's not that I'm not flattered, Sir, but... why me? What have I done to merit the honor?"

"Aside from your obvious bravery in battle two days ago, when you put yourself in danger to retrieve more ammunition, rather than sending your men in your place?" Skinner asks. "You're smart, you can see the whole picture where others can only focus on the piece immediately in front of them, you inspire loyalty in your men, you'll take risks when necessary but won't needlessly sacrifice a single soldier more than you absolutely have to, and you don't lose your head the moment that the enemy's guns begin to fire."

"But Sir...." He's still having trouble comprehending it. "That's just commanding a company, no more than a hundred men when it's at full strength. Putting me at the head of an entire regiment, though?"

"I'm confident that you'll be able to handle it without any problems, Mulder," Skinner says with a dismissive wave of his hand. "And really, I only have one piece of advice for you."

"Sir?"

"Keep your Mr. Scully with you," Skinner says firmly. "It hasn't escaped my notice that he has something of a grounding influence on you, that he reins in your more impulsive tendencies. Every commander needs a man like that by his side, and for you, Private Scully is absolutely that man." Mulder frowns, somewhat bothered by this.

"I don't dispute that Private Scully has had a very positive effect on me, Colonel, but... well, to be honest, I've always seen him as a potential commander in the making, himself. To be perfectly frank, I've always expected that Scully would rise above me in rank at some point, that he's destined to be far more than just my second-in-command."

"I absolutely agree with that assessment, Captain Mulder... but as you'll soon find, when you name your own successor as the leader of your company, it's also important to take the wishes of your men into account." Mulder begins to swell with indignation.

"Are you saying that Scully shouldn't advance because the men under him wouldn't approve of it?" he demands, bristling at the notion. "Why? Because of his age, because he's so young? The majority of my men are older than I am, but that doesn't stop them from obeying me when I give orders." Skinner holds up a hand, forestalling Mulder's further protests.

"You misunderstand me, Mulder," he says. "I am not speaking about the wishes of the other men. I'm talking about the wishes of the man being considered for the promotion. And I happen to be in the unique position of knowing that Private Scully does not want to be promoted to a position of command." Mulder is astonished: as close as they are (or, at least, as close as Mulder _thinks_ that they are), Scully has never confided any such thing to him.

"He really told you that, Sir?" Skinner nods.

"Yes, Mulder, he did," the colonel confirms. "I once had occasion to ask him, when it became clear that his competence as a soldier was far greater than what his age would suggest, whether he had ever given any thought to a future in command, and he was very emphatic that it's something to which he does not aspire." Mulder mulls this over in silence for a moment. It's not a question that he's ever thought to ask Scully, and now, suddenly, it seems terribly short-sighted of him. Skinner is right that Scully is an excellent soldier, a natural choice to move up through the ranks, and yet, it's never occurred to Mulder to discuss such a possibility with him. Shouldn't a good leader be on the lookout for emerging talent among the men under his care?

But, then, he thinks, he's never really given any thought to his own advancement, either. It had come as no less of a shock to him, when he had been promoted to captain, as Skinner's intentions for him are proving to be now.

"I suppose that I should ask whether you have any similar aversions to being promoted," Skinner muses, almost as an afterthought. "Do you? Would you rather remain where you are?"

"I'm not averse to the idea, Sir," says Mulder quickly. "I'm just... I'm surprised, that's all."

"Well, take a day to think on it," Colonel Skinner advises him. "I believe that you would do well at the head of this regiment. And if you do decide to accept- which I sincerely hope that you will- I also hope that you'll take my advice with regard to Private Scully, as well. You will need a lieutenant, a right-hand man, and I can't think of anyone better suited for the position." Colonel Skinner moves off without another word, leaving Mulder to mull over his unexpected offer in stunned silence.

A whole regiment. The very idea of it is almost overwhelming... but, then, he reminds himself, the idea of commanding his own company had seemed to be far more than he would ever be fit to handle, once, but he feels that, all in all, he has risen to the challenge. He must have, if Skinner believes him to be a good candidate for colonel.

Still, it's a momentous decision, one that he doesn't think that he should make lightly. And so Mulder decides to do what he does before making almost all of his decisions, these days: he sets off in search of Private Scully, to get his friend's opinion on the matter.

He's still somewhat bothered by Skinner knowing something about Scully that Mulder himself did not know, but not nearly as bothered as he is by the idea of Scully not being interested in his own advancement. The army needs brave, intelligent men who can lead well, and Scully is all of these things and more... so why would he back away from being put in charge? It seems wholly out of character for him, Mulder thinks, as he wanders through the regiment's makeshift camp, seeking his friend's familiar face and red hair.

One quick circuit around the camp, however, is enough for Mulder to know that Scully is not present. Thinking that perhaps he might have already finished eating and gone down to the lake to wash off, as he'd said that he might, Mulder doesn't worry too much about it, deciding to have his own dinner while he waits. He heats up his ration of bacon at a cooking fire and eats it resting against the trunk of a tree, then drinks a cup of overly bitter coffee and sucks at a piece of hardtack while he watches the perimeter of the camp, waiting for Scully to return.

When a full hour has gone by with no sign of his friend, though, Mulder starts to grow nervous, and he decides to go in search of Scully. He stops Private Jorgensen, whose mud-free countenance suggests that he's already been out to the lake to bathe.

"Did you see Private Scully down by the lake, when you were there?" he asks, and Jorgensen nods his head.

"Saw 'im wanderin' north, around the shore, though," he says. "Not goin' in for a swim with the rest of the men. He told me that he just wanted to walk a bit." Mulder thanks him and heads off, being sure his face doesn't betray any of the nervousness that he's beginning to feel. According to Colonel Skinner, General Lee's army is not very far away; if Scully wanders far enough, he chances running afoul of a picket line or a patrol, or even enemy cavalry. And there's always the possibility, in the evening darkness, that their own scouts could mistake him for a rebel and shoot him. It certainly wouldn't be the first time that it's happened.

A few men are still splashing around in the shallow water near the shore of the lake when he arrives, but Scully is not among them. The moonlight, shining through a break in the clouds, is bright enough for Mulder to make out a narrow footpath worn through the trees and dense undergrowth at the lake's edge, no doubt trodden into being by the feet of the farmer who owns this land, or of the local men who fish here, and Mulder sets off along it, in the northern direction that Jorgensen had indicated. Behind him, the voices of the men swimming close to camp fade away, leaving only the nighttime sounds of the seemingly-empty woods. Mulder tries to walk as quietly as possible, keeping a sharp lookout for enemy patrols, unlikely as it is that they would dare to get this close to a Union encampment.

Here and there, the path branches off towards the lake shore, and Mulder follows it each time, arriving at a clear space along the water, most likely favored fishing and swimming spots for the locals, but he doesn't see Scully in the water at any of them.

Mulder has gone perhaps three quarters of a mile around the lake when a new sound makes him stop and listen intently. There's a soft, liquid rushing and a more distant splashing, but it's constant, the sound of a brook or a waterfall. He decides that it's likely that he's approaching the stream, probably a tributary of the Potomac River, that feeds this particular lake, and he's about to continue on his way when there's another splash, this one louder, separate from the other sounds that the rushing water is making. Carefully, silently, Mulder continues along the path. It could be Scully... but just in case it's not, total quiet on his part would be prudent.

Ten or fifteen yards along the lake's edge, Mulder comes to a small inlet where, as he had suspected, an offshoot of the lake narrows briefly before widening again into a pool, almost a pond, in a clearing in the forest. Water from a burbling stream runs down a gently sloping waterfall at the opposite end. In the middle of the pool, which must be relatively deep, Mulder can just make out the head and shoulders of someone swimming slowly, leisurely towards the shore, hair slicked back, features obscured in shadow. When the swimmer turns enough for his profile to be easily visible in the moonlight, Mulder relaxes. It's Scully, he's fine, he's just decided, for whatever reason, to get as far away from the other men as possible before washing off in the water. Mulder supposed that he can understand that well enough; privacy is nearly impossible to come by in the army, and he can't begrudge Scully for wanting a little peace and quiet.

He steps forward, about to make his presence known, when Scully, brushing his wet hair back off of his face, begins to ascend the riverbank, still ignorant of Mulder's arrival. The water recedes from his chin... from his shoulders... from his chest... and Mulder freezes, gasping in shock loudly enough for Scully to hear him, flying backwards into the cover of the dark water with a splash, more quickly than Mulder would have thought possible.

It's not quite quick enough. What Mulder sees, in that brief glimpse, is more than sufficient for him to be quite certain of one very important fact:

A lack of interest in advancement is, arguably, the smallest secret that Private Scully has been keeping from him.


	5. Chapter 5

**PART TWO**

 

JULY 4, 1863  
NORTH OF FREDERICK, MARYLAND

 

In her rational mind- the part that is nearly always in control- she knows, _has_ known, since the beginning of their friendship, that the chances were great that this state of affairs could not continue indefinitely. She's always known, on some level, that eventually, Mulder would figure it out, would put the pieces together, and would realize her secret. He's far too intelligent for her to be able to fool him for very long.

What she _hadn't_ counted on was that it would be her own carelessness, and not Mulder's smarts, that would be her undoing and end up revealing her to him.

And she most definitely is revealed, that much is certain. She curses the moon's brightness: if it were a new moon, or at the very least a crescent, a just-visible sliver in the night sky, or even if the day's low-hanging clouds had remained solid overhead, she would have been just fine, absolutely fine, more than able to wriggle back into her wrappings and uniform before Mulder had gotten close enough to make out any of the important details.

But no, the moon is nearly full, shining brightly above her through a break in the clouds that has opened up at the exact wrong moment. It's bright enough that even at this distance, she has no trouble making out the flabbergasted expression on Mulder's face. She thinks to herself, with an inward groan, that if the light is sufficient for her to see exactly how wide his eyes are, it's sufficient for him to have been treated to quite the exhibition, just now.

They stare at each other, Mulder on the shore and Scully up to her neck in cool, dark water, for another thirty seconds, neither knowing what to say, until finally, Scully breaks the silence. She can't stay in here all night, at the very least; she knows that much.

"Would you mind turning your back, please?" she asks, disliking the plea in her voice. "Just for a moment?" Mulder hesitates, then nods shortly and turns away. Scanning the rest of the woods around them to be sure that no one else has snuck up on them in the meantime, Scully stands and wades out of the pool, her feet stumbling slightly on the rocky bottom. She reaches her clothing, washed in the lake and spread out on a boulder to dry, and begins to wrestle her way back into it, cringing at the feel of the still-damp wool and cotton catching on her skin. She yanks on her trousers, and is just finishing buttoning her shirt after performing the complicated business of wrapping a series of linen bandages tightly around her chest, when Mulder, evidently unable to ignore his curiosity a moment longer, turns back around to face her. He looks her over from top to bottom, his eyes lingering on the forcibly-flattened expanse of her bosom beneath her loose uniform shirt, before he meets her eyes.

"I'm going to assume," he says, finally, his voice hoarse, his tone unreadable, "that your name is not Daniel." She shakes her head.

"It's Dana," she says quietly. "Dana Scully."

"So your last name, at least, wasn't a lie, then?" She winces at the hurt in his voice.

"Mulder, please... I promise, I never wanted to lie to you, but I couldn't risk letting anyone find out, I just couldn't."

"And you thought that... what, that I would tell someone? That I would betray your trust?" He shakes his head. "If you had been found out, you could be sent to prison. Why would I risk that happening to you?"

"It's more likely that I'd just be sent home than to prison," Scully counters. "And I know- and don't you try to deny it- that you've been tempted to send me home plenty of times already, before you knew any of this. A part of me worried that you would jump at the excuse to get me out of harm's way. I know that you don't that think I belong here."

"I wanted to send you home because I thought that you were just a boy, Scully. I thought you might be fourteen, fifteen years old, at the most. I thought that you had a mother with a husband and two sons already off at war, a mother that you'd left behind to sit at home and worry about losing her youngest child in addition to the rest of her family." Scully doesn't meet his eyes as she pulls her jacket on over her shirt and begins to button it back up. "Does she know, Scully? Does your mother know what you've done, where you are? Or is that why you refuse to write to her, why you only write to your sister?"

"She knows that I'm with the army," says Scully. "But she thinks that I left home to be an army nurse, not to be a soldier." She tries in vain to wring a little bit more water from the hem of her jacket, gives up, and reaches for her belt, lying on the ground nearby. Instead of putting it on, though, she sinks down to sit on the boulder that had previously held her drying clothing. She knows that Mulder is going to want a full explanation, and it's better that she provide it here, where there's no chance of anyone else from camp overhearing her. "And I _was_ a nurse- at first." Mulder hesitates, and Scully holds her breath... but after a moment, he sits next to her on the boulder. She's immediately reminded of the hazy morning they had spent sitting in a similar manner, only three days ago, and feels a sharp pang in her chest. She doesn't want to lose this friendship.

"So why did you change your mind, then?" he asks her. "What happened?"

"Being a nurse didn't get me far enough away from the situation that I was trying to escape," she says. "The man that I was trying to get away from was still able to find me." Mulder turns sharply to look at her, concern in his eyes.

"What man? Your father?" Scully shakes her head. "Your... your husband?" His voice breaks on the last word, and for a moment, Scully wonders... but she shakes the thought off as quickly as it comes. This is not the time or the place for trivialities.

"No, not my husband," she says. "Not yet, at any rate. But if I had stayed, he would have been, before very long." She thinks of her father, of the stab of guilt that she still feels whenever she thinks of how he must have felt when he had opened the letter from his wife, telling him what his beloved youngest daughter had done. "Do you remember the doctor that I mentioned to Private Jorgensen this morning, when he was being an ass? My father's friend? The battlefield surgeon who told my family what the conditions are like in the field hospitals?" Mulder nods. "A year ago, he approached my father to ask him for my hand in marriage. And my father said yes."

"Without even asking you first?" Mulder seems genuinely confounded by this, and Scully feels a sharp stab of affection for him.

"Well... he didn't exactly say yes outright, with no conditions attached," Scully amends. "My father gave Daniel- that's his name, Doctor Daniel Waterston- his permission to court me, for no less than a year, before any plans could be made for us to be married. If, during that time, I decided that I did not wish to move forward with the arrangement, all that I would have to do would be to make my wishes known, and the entire thing would be called off." Scully pulls her feet up onto the boulder and lowers her chin to rest on her knees. "But it was made abundantly clear to me- by my mother, by my older brother Bill, and especially by my father- that they considered the arrangement to be an excellent match, the best offer that I was likely to get, and they made it clear that I would be offending my entire family- not to mention Daniel- if I were to refuse him."

"But you didn't want to marry him," Mulder states. Scully shakes her head.

"Daniel is the sort of man who wears many different faces, depending on who he is around at any given time," Scully explains quietly. "To my father and mother, he behaved one way; around me, whenever we were alone, he was quite different. And he was different again around people whom he perceived to be his social inferiors."

"And you found out that he wasn't so much someone that you liked, when your father wasn't around?" asks Mulder.

"He wasn't terrible, at first," Scully admits. "In fact, initially, he was quite kind. Just trying to win me over, I suppose. But as the months passed, and we were allowed more and more time to walk together and to talk unchaperoned, he began to behave very differently. He made clear to me exactly what his expectations for me would be, were I to become his wife, and it was not a life that I found the slightest bit appealing."

"How so?"

"What I told you before, about my education, about having been privately tutored... all of that was the truth, Mulder. My studies have always been the most important thing in the world to me, and I've always planned to take them as far as I possibly can, something that my father has always strongly supported. Daniel made it clear that, as his wife, I would have other, more important duties to occupy my time." Mulder winces.

"I take it that none of those pursuits were academic in nature," he says, and she shakes her head.

"Not at all. Daniel viewed me as more of a potential ornamentation for his life than anything else. His life's plan for himself was clear: he'd achieved the respectable career and the position in society that he'd longed for, and the next step would be to find a wife to give him children, a legacy, and complete the picture. He wanted children immediately- he's quite a bit older than I am, you see- and one I'd produced them, I was to devote all of my time to raising them and to running his household." She glances quickly at Mulder. "It's not that I'm averse to having children, you understand; I just want to wait until I'm a bit older. I don't see any reason to rush."

"How old are you, Scully?" asks Mulder. "If you don't mind telling me, that is."

"No, I don't mind," she says. "I'm eighteen years old." She smiles slightly. "Old enough to be a soldier, so you can stop worrying, at least on that count." Mulder laughs.

"I'll admit that it's been a daily battle, in my mind, whether or not to report you as being underage, Scully," he says. "It's weighed pretty heavily on my conscience at times." Scully, however, does not crack a smile.

"And now that you know the truth?" she asks. "Some would say that you would be even more within your rights to turn me in, that I'm even less fit for battle than a child would be." Mulder turns to look at her, his expression sober.

"No, Scully, I'm not going to turn you in," he promises. "I already know that you're more fit than most to be a soldier. But I have to admit, Scully, I don't quite understand: how was this-" he gestures to Scully's uniform- "the most obvious solution to the problem? I understand that your father might have been disappointed, but why not just tell him that you'd decided that his friend wasn't the right man for you?"

"Because even though my father framed the entire arrangement as my choice, it was made abundantly clear to me that it wasn't really and truly my decision. If I said no, my father would be embarrassed, and my parents didn't want that. My older sister Melissa had already caused enough of a scandal the year before, when she'd run away from home to live in New York City, unmarried and alone. And my brother Charlie had gotten a girl from our church into trouble- that's how he ended up in the navy, my parents gave him the choice between that or exile from the family- almost immediately after that." Scully swallows, remembering the desperate way that her mother had begged her to please, please think of the family, to think of her future, before she did anything rash in turning down such a desirable match. "My parents never, ever thought that after all of that, someone as respectable as Daniel would have any interest in joining himself with our family. They saw the marriage as the family's salvation, something to save our reputation." She ducks her head, the shame that's been chasing her for more than six months suddenly becoming overwhelming. She's glad that Mulder can't see her blushing in the moonlight. "But it just wasn't a sacrifice that I was willing to make."

"Nor should you have," says Mulder firmly, and Scully turns to him in surprise. "If your family was really that concerned with their reputation, then why not just relocate to a new town- to a new state, even? It was unfair of them to task one of four children with rescuing the entire family's reputation."

"It wasn't just their reputation that they were worried about, Mulder," says Scully. "Not really. From my father's point of view, Daniel really was an excellent, advantageous match for me. He's a substantially wealthy man with an impeccable reputation and a good, solid, respectable career. He's intelligent and well-spoken, and in my father's presence, he's never been anything but kind and courteous, a perfect gentleman." She stops, biting her lip.

"But when he was just around you?" Mulder presses gently. "When your father wasn't present?" Scully ducks her head.

"He wasn't... terrible, by any means," she says. "But he wasn't nearly as kind, nearly as patient... and he certainly wasn't very interested in hearing anything that I might have to say. My father has always encouraged me to be candid- within reason, of course- and not to try and hide the fact that I had a fully-functioning mind of my own. Daniel, though... he would rather I remained silent and listened to what he had to say." She looks up at him. "I think that by now, you know me well enough to guess just how comfortable I was with that."

"I can't imagine the notion went over well with you, no," chuckles Mulder.

"Not well at all," she affirms. "And when I didn't agree with every thought that Daniel felt the need to share, instead of debating me, he would belittle my opinions- sometimes cruelly. He seemed to be more interested in getting me to stop speaking than he was in actually persuading me to see things from his point of view."

"And you couldn't tell any of this to your father?" Scully sighs.

"I tried, once," she says. "My father thought that I was probably just exaggerating, and that even if I wasn't, that Daniel, most likely, was just not used to spending time around a woman who had been brought up to think for herself. He told me that over time, Daniel would grow accustomed to hearing opinions coming from my mouth that he had not planted there himself... and then, of course, my father went off to war, and wasn't around long enough to see just how wrong he had been."

"What about your mother?"

"My mother was even more dead-set on the match than my father was, so there was no help to be had there," she says. "I wrote to my sister Melissa, in New York City, and told her that I felt like I was out of options- at least, out of options that wouldn't embarrass our parents- and she suggested that I go off and become a battlefield nurse. Plenty of respectable young women were doing it, she said, so there would be nothing scandalous about it, and by the time that the war was over, either Daniel would have given up on waiting for me to return and would have found someone else, or our father would be home and I could find a way to show him, first-hand, how wrong he had been about his friend."

"But he followed you, didn't he? Daniel?" asks Mulder, and Scully nods.

"I left a letter for my mother, explaining what I had done, so that she wouldn't worry, and I tried to travel as far from home as I could," she recounts. "I took a train all the way down south to where General Grant's Army of the Tennessee was encamped, and became a nurse there, during the siege of Vicksburg. But Daniel, as a well-respected battlefield surgeon, had plenty of connections, and it was easy enough for him to find me by description alone." She runs her fingers ruefully through her unevenly-shorn red locks. "I have a few very distinctive physical features, you see." Mulder grins.

"The hair?"

"Exactly. My mother provided him with a photograph of me, which he sent around to every surgeon and head nurse that he could, along with a description of my hair, eye, and skin color. It didn't take him long to locate me in Mississippi at all. The head nurse, when she found out that I was there without the permission of my parents, physically escorted me to the train station and put me on a train back north, but I snuck off the train while it was stopped in western Pennsylvania. I stole clothing off of a washing line in the backyard of a farm, cut my hair short, found the nearest recruitment office, and enlisted in the Army of the Potomac."

"So your family doesn't know what you've done, then?" asks Mulder, frowning, and Scully shakes her head. "Where do they think you are?"

"They think I'm still out here as a nurse, just better-hidden than I was before."

"But what if something...." Mulder's voice catches slightly. "What if something happens to you? Your parents might never know the truth. They'd spend their whole lives wondering."

"My sister Melissa knows exactly where I am," Scully assures him. "She knows everything, including my regiment and my company. She even knows who you are, in fact." 

"Me?" asks Mulder, clearly taken aback. "You told your sister about me?"

"Of course," Scully says. "If something ever does happen to me, if she doesn't hear from me for a long period of time, you can expect to get a letter from her, asking after me. She'd be referring to me as Daniel Scully, of course. You weren't supposed to ever find out my real name." Mulder looks hurt again.

"I would have kept your secret, if you had told me," he says. "I'm certainly not going to expose you now that I know. Why would you keep it from me for so long?"

"I really did want to tell you, Mulder," Scully reassures him. "It wasn't because I didn't trust you- I do, I trust you with my life. It was just... I was worried that you might look at me differently, treat me differently, maybe be more cautious with the things that you shared with me. I didn't want you to feel like you ever had to hold back for fear of offending me... and more than anything else, I never wanted you to feel like I was weaker, or less capable, or that I needed to be protected or shielded from harm." Mulder stares at her a moment longer; then, inexplicably, he bursts out laughing. Scully frowns. "What's so funny about that?"

"Scully," he says, shaking his head, "the very idea of you being less capable might be the best joke I've heard in a long time, and that's including the one Jorgensen told us about the two prostitutes and the priest." Scully grins. "I know full well that you're capable. I couldn't ask for anything more from a soldier. And yes, I feel the need to protect you, but that's because you're a soldier under my command and because you're my friend, not because you're a woman." He shakes his head again, still chuckling. "This doesn't change anything at all, Scully. Unless you'd rather I call you Dana?"

"Best stick with Scully," she advises him, smiling in relief. "We wouldn't want you to slip up and call me Dana in front of the others. That could be difficult to explain away."

"You're probably right," Mulder agrees. He pushes himself up, off of the boulder, and glances up at the moon, which is edging its way out of the clearing in the trees overhead, back into the clouds. "We should probably get back to the regiment. I was speaking with Colonel Skinner earlier, before I came to find you, and he told me that we could receive the order to march at any time. It would be smart to try and get some sleep while we can." His eyes suddenly widen. "Oh! I almost forgot!"

"What?" asks Scully, looking up from buckling her belt and restoring all of her gear to its proper place.

"What Skinner told me earlier tonight, right after we stopped marching. It's the whole reason I came out here looking for you." He grins. "He's recommending me for a promotion." Scully freezes in the process of strapping on her newly-filled canteen.

"He is?" she asks. She hopes, badly, that her sudden nervousness isn't obvious. A promotion, she's well-aware, could mean that he's leaving the regiment- leaving her.

"To colonel of the Eighty-Third Pennsylvania," Mulder says. "Skinner is being given the Third Brigade, after the loss of Colonel Vincent, and he's naming me as his outgoing choice as his successor." Scully immediately relaxes, grinning broadly at her friend.

"Mulder, that's wonderful!" she exclaims, and she truly means it. Mulder is a natural leader, someone the men will readily follow- and, of course, this also means that she isn't going to be losing his company any time soon.

"And I've been thinking, Scully, while we've been sitting here talking," he continues. "Skinner had a word of advice for me, when he told me about the promotion. And it concerned you." Scully frowns, confused... and her confusion quickly turns to nervousness. Has Skinner noticed something about her? Does he suspect? Or is it merely that he finds such a close friendship between a captain and one of the men under his command to be inappropriate?

"Skinner had something to say concerning me?" Scully asks anxiously, and Mulder nods.

"He advised me that, should I accept the promotion to colonel, I ought to take you along with me. As one of my lieutenants, as my aide-de-camp." Scully feels her stomach drop sharply.

"Mulder," she says hesitantly, "it's not that I'm not flattered by the idea, but-"

"I know that you don't want to be in a position of command, Scully, Skinner told me that," says Mulder quickly, cutting her protest off. "But this wouldn't be a command post, not really. You'd have to be a liaison between me and the other officers, sometimes, when I'm busy, and you might occasionally have to carry out tasks in my name, but mostly, you would just be assisting me." Scully chews her lip, mulling it over. "Give it some thought, Scully, okay? It would mean you would always be near me, no matter whether we're in camp, marching, or in battle... and if, by some chance, I were to be moved to another regiment, or I get promoted even further up the ladder, it would mean that I could take you with me wherever I go. We wouldn't ever have to worry about being separated." 

Scully is suddenly incredibly thankful for the dark, grateful that Mulder can't possibly see the flush that she's certain is creeping up her neck and onto her cheeks at his admission that he wants to keep her close to him that badly.

"You really want me to stay with you that much?" she asks, hoping like hell that she's coming across as flattered and not coquettish.

"Of course I do," he says. "And besides... Skinner advised me that I'm going to need a right-hand-man, and there's no one in the entire army that I would want it to be other than you."

This time, Scully can't hide the grin that spreads over her face as she feels a rush of warmth from head to toe. Mulder breaks into a smile of his own at her reaction.

"All right, then," she tells him. "I'll do it, if you really want me with you that badly." Mulder claps a hand on her shoulder.

"It's settled, then," he says happily. "And now we really do need to get back to the camp." With the last of her gear gathered up, Scully leaves the side of the pool, following Mulder back into the near-total darkness of the woods around the lake. Less than ten paces down the path, however, Mulder stops and turns to her, frowning curiously.

"What?" she asks.

"I was just wondering," he says, "about what Skinner told me... about you not ever wanting to be promoted into a command position." Scully nods. "And if you don't mind my asking... why is it that you're so against the idea? I can't see any possible reason why you wouldn't make an excellent commander. In fact, I told Skinner that I always assumed that one day, you would climb the ladder far higher than I ever could." 

"I'm flattered," says Scully. "But... being in command, being promoted in any way, would mean that more attention would be focused on me. I'd be more visible. And attention and visibility really aren't things that you want to attract when you're trying to keep a secret as big as mine." Mulder appears to be thinking this over.

"I suppose that makes sense," he agrees. "And I want to make sure that you know, so that you're not worrying about it: I'll do everything in my power to help you keep on hiding your secret, Scully. The last thing in the world that I want to have happen is for you to be sent home, away from me, and be forced to marry some idiot brute who doesn't deserve you." Before Scully has the chance to respond, he's turned back to the path. "Come on," he says. "Let's hurry up and get back."

He strides off into the darkness, leaving Scully to follow behind him, doing her very best not to overthink any of what he's just told her.


	6. Chapter 6

JULY 6, 1863  
NORTH OF FREDERICK, MARYLAND

 

The mile-long walk back to camp, completed in near-total silence, is not nearly as awkward or as uncomfortable as Scully would have anticipated that it would be.

No, the discomfort does not come until two days later, when the regiment makes camp for the night, taking the extra trouble to set up tents for the first time in days. It's at this point that Mulder suggests- innocently enough- that he and Scully continue the pattern that they had begun some nights before, and share his tent.

"Believe me, no one's going to think twice about it, especially not once my promotion is officially finalized," he promises her, when she tries to protest. "Not to mention yours. It makes perfect sense that the colonel would want his aide close at hand at all times, in case he needs anything."

"Yes, but... in the middle of the night?" Mulder shrugs.

"They'll just assume that I'm particularly demanding. I'd rather they do that than have you end up being found out through some unfortunate accident that comes about as a result of you having to share a tent with some other soldier, one who has no concept of privacy. If I'm the colonel, you can bet that absolutely no one is ever going to come barging into my tent unannounced. Your secret will be much safer that way."

Logically, of course, Mulder's proposition makes perfect sense. Every single time that Scully has come perilously close to being discovered thus far, it's been as a result of her sharing a tent with several other men. Bunking with Mulder every night instead would eliminate that problem once and for all. And it's not, as Mulder has pointed out, as though they haven't done it several times before.

In practice, however... it's not nearly as much of a non-issue, not now that Mulder knows the truth about her. At least, it's not for Scully.

"You don't need to sleep all bundled up, you know," he tells her, as she stretches out on her sleeping roll fully-clothed. He's already divested himself of both his jacket and his vest, and is in the process of unbuttoning his shirt and shucking that off, as well. He yawns and lies back on his own sleeping roll in nothing but trousers and an undershirt, and Scully, scarcely a foot away, lies very still, staring up at the canvas roof of the tent, determinedly not looking at him. "Scully?" Still, she looks up and does not move. "Hey, Scully? You still awake?" He rolls on his side and pokes insistently at her arm through her jacket, and the brief contact, even through two layers of wool and cotton, sends a flash of electricity through her.

"What?" Against her better judgement, she turns her head to the side and looks over at him, doing her best to keep her eyes on his face, and not allow her gaze to wander down to the exposed skin of his lean arms, or to the muscles of his chest, on display in sharp relief under his suspenders and thin undershirt.

"Are you all right?" Mulder asks, concerned, and clearly oblivious to the true source of her discomfort.

"I'm fine, Mulder," she promises him. "I'm perfectly used to sleeping in my jacket by now. I've been doing it ever since I joined up." Mulder seems to accept her explanation readily enough; at any rate, he rolls onto his back and closes his eyes. He's asleep, for once, within minutes.

Scully, on the other hand, doesn't find it nearly as easy to drift off as she usually does. The regiment hasn't done all that much today- they'd drilled briefly, more to alleviate the boredom than anything else, but there had been no marching, nor any word of when they can expect to move out again, or where they'll be going when they do. With such an abnormal lack of physical activity, Scully is not nearly exhausted enough to shut down her brain and go to sleep.

This, right here, this hot and living energy buzzing in the air, all at once both uncomfortable and incredibly exhilarating, had been the exact reason why Scully had not willingly let Mulder in on her secret. It had been difficult enough for her to keep herself under control, to look rather than to gaze, to watch him warily and not longingly, because he undoubtedly would have found such expressions on the face of another young man to be, at best, discomfiting, and at worst downright disturbing. But now that he knows, now that he'll never again think of her as just another one of the boys, trying to hide how she feels from him will be just that much more difficult. There's little chance, now, were he to catch her looking at him in a certain way, that he would ever interpret her interest as anything other than what it really is.

Fox Mulder is unlike anyone that Scully has ever known before, in a multitude of ways. He's intelligent, but not constantly and supremely in awe of his own mind, the way Daniel Waterston so clearly was. He's open to new ideas, willing to put forth the effort to see things from another's point of view, even if it sharply contradicts what he already believes. On learning the truth about her, he had accepted it without argument, without expressing shock or amazement that a woman should make a good soldier. She's well aware of how few men would be so agreeable to the notion. Most men, she's certain, would have been adamant that a battlefield is no place for a proper lady. Most men would have seen what she had done as a scandal of outrageous proportions, and would have immediately demanded that she return home to her family, lest they be shamed by her actions. 

Mulder had done none of those things. He had been surprised, without a doubt, and somewhat hurt that she had kept the truth from him for so long, but the idea of sending her away had not even seemed to cross his mind. She had already proven her competence beyond a reasonable doubt; her sex, learned after the fact, was then irrelevant to him.

She should be grateful, certainly... but in the hazy state just before sleep, Scully is able to admit to herself that, in reality, she would love nothing better than for Mulder to think of her sex as anything _but_ irrelevant.

Morning brings no further clarity to the situation, not when Scully opens her eyes to see Mulder, lying on his side facing her, watching her with eyes full of what she's almost certain must be pure tenderness, though the expression is gone from his face so quickly that Scully can't be sure that it was ever there at all. It's entirely possible, she tells herself, as Mulder sits up and sets about re-assembling his discarded uniform, that she had simply imagined it into being.

But, then, why is he blushing?

Mulder's promotion to colonel of the Eighty-Third Pennsylvania is formally announced later that day, just after the announcement that Colonel Skinner is to assume command of the entire Third Brigade in Colonel Vincent's place. Both announcements are greeted with raucous cheering from the men, though there is no small sadness over the departure of Skinner, who has always been well-liked by the entire regiment. Scully's promotion to lieutenant seems to be accepted, by most of the men, as a matter of course, which comes as a relief. There are scattered grumbles about favoritism, to be sure, but they come mostly from men who would complain about anything at all, given enough opportunity.

The day holds one further surprise for Scully, though if she'd had the time to give the matter any thought at all, it would not have come as a surprise at all: she and Mulder are presented, following their promotions, with horses, and Scully is delighted. There is not much that she misses about home, these days, now that her father and sister are no longer there and her mother is so dead-set on convincing her to marry Daniel... but Scully badly misses her father's stables. They had not had many horses, but Scully had been extremely attached to the four that they did have. Riding had been among her favorite methods of escape since childhood, in spite of her mother's insistence that it was unseemly for a young lady to be galloping about the countryside with one leg on either side of a horse, rather than trotting along the roads in town in a proper side-saddle. Her father, of course, had waved such notions aside as being old-fashioned. If Scully could have found a way to sneak back home and take one of her family's horses before enlisting, she absolutely would have joined the cavalry, but such a venture had seemed far too risky.

The horse she is given is a spirited young filly, full of energy, excitable, but more than ready to do Scully's bidding, once she's gotten up into the saddle and has asserted that she is the one in charge. The feel of being in the saddle again is exhilarating, liberating, and Scully takes the horse on several circuits along the border of the field on which the regiment is encamped, before she reluctantly climbs back down and allows the animal to be led away and seen to by the regiment's grooms. She approaches Mulder, who has been leaning against a young sapling and watching her ride, a wide smile on his handsome face.

"I think that might be the happiest that I've ever seen you, Scully," he says, lazily acknowledging her formal salute (he's told her that she doesn't have to salute him every time, but she insists, arguing that her failing to do so could make the others suspicious, and at the very least, would attract the attention she's so desperate to avoid).

"It's been far too long since I've been on a horse," she says with a shrug.

"Well, something tells me that from here on out, you and I will be riding until we're both sick of it," he sighs. "We're to begin marching again tomorrow, but I'm not clear on where, exactly, we're headed."

"Where is General Lee?" Scully asks. "I thought that General Meade had decided not to pursue him after all."

"He did," says Mulder. "In spite of every general under him urging him to do otherwise, and in spite of President Lincoln demanding that he give chase, I've heard."

"Washington must not be happy with that decision," muses Scully.

"No, I don't imagine that they are," agrees Mulder. "Lee was severely weakened when his armies retreated from Gettysburg. He was on the run. And with all of the rain that we had immediately following the battle, you can bet his men were delayed crossing the river and getting back into Virginia. If we'd pursued them, we most likely could have ended the fighting in the east once and for all. Then the only thing that would have remained would have been for General Grant's men to end things in the west." He shakes his head sadly. "But he lost the chance, and who knows how long things will go on now?"

"So... you have no idea what direction we'll be moving now?" Scully asks.

"South. That's all I know," says Mulder. "It's possible we're heading for Washington, at least for the time being, with Lee's army being so close to it. Or maybe to Fredricksburg. I don't know." He gazes out over the horizon. "You know, if it does turn out that we're headed towards Fredricksburg, coming from this direction, we may pass by my family's home."

"Really?" asks Scully. The idea makes her unaccountably nervous. "Where do they live?"

"My father's tobacco plantation is near Culpeper, Virginia," Mulder says. "It's about thirty miles to the west of Fredricksburg. My family has a house up in Washington, as well, actually... we spent a good deal of time in the capital when I was growing up. My father's friend was always very active in Washington politics, and my father assisted him a good deal." Mulder looks down, scuffing the toe of his boot into the dirt. "Of course, they can't really use the house in Washington now, after the secession." Scully is quiet. Their respective families have always been a touchy subject- though, she supposes, her own family is no longer off-limits for conversation, now that Mulder knows why she's not in contact with anyone except her sister. She decides, recklessly, to venture into once-forbidden territory and see what happens.

"You never seem to write to your parents," she says, hesitantly. "Just... well...."

"Just to Diana," Mulder finishes, and Scully just barely keeps from wincing. "And sometimes I write to my younger sister, Samantha, as well... but I don't know if she's been getting my letters, since she never answers me." He shoves his hands into his pockets. "It's entirely possible, I suppose, that my parents have forbidden her to write to me at all."

"Were they that upset with you?" Scully asks. "For leaving home and joining the Union?" He nods.

"You could say that they felt that I was... working against the family's best interests, I suppose," he says. "My joining the Union meant I was supporting a cause that could cost them a good deal of money."

"By which you mean that they own slaves," Scully surmises.

"They're certainly not working the land themselves," Mulder says with a derisive snort. "Nor are they paying anyone to do it for them... unless you count paying for the upkeep on the shacks where their slaves live." He turns away from Scully, walking back towards their tent... but Scully can tell that she's not being dismissed, that she's free to walk with him and keep talking if she wishes. Which, of course, she does. 

"None of it ever seemed right to me," Mulder continues, his voice quiet. "Not when I was a child, and certainly not as I grew older. Most of the other children I knew seemed to see it as the natural order: these people, who work our fields and clean our houses- and raise our children, even- are not truly 'people.' They are our property, they are ours to do with as we see fit." He shudders. "My sister and I, we didn't see it that way. But any attempt to question the status quo was shot down by our parents before we scarcely had the words out." He looks down as they walk. "When I was sixteen, my father took me aside and asked whether I understood just how much I was embarrassing him, espousing these 'ridiculously radical views,' whether I knew how much I was corrupting my younger sister, possibly making it impossible for her to ever find someone willing to marry her, when she was so apt to spout off subversive opinions at any given moment."

"Your father wasn't worried about your prospects for marriage, though?" Scully asks.

"It was always more or less assumed that I would marry Diana one day, after I had finished with my schooling," Mulder says with a shrug, and Scully winces again. "And Diana is about as non-political as it's possible for a person to be, so she never really cared about any of it."

"She didn't have any viewpoints on the matter whatsoever?" Scully asks, frowning. "It seems strange that you would be all right with that." Mulder looks down at her, eyebrows raised, and Scully breaks his gaze quickly. "I just mean... your beliefs were important enough for you to deny your family, to go to war with people that they perceive as the enemy. It just strikes me as odd that you wouldn't be at least somewhat bothered by her indifference towards something that clearly means a great deal to you."

"I didn't say that I wasn't bothered by it," counters Mulder. "But for Diana... she doesn't see it as affecting how she'll live her life, one way or another. She knows I'm not going to own slaves, regardless of who wins the war, so the outcome isn't really going to make a difference in the way that she eventually runs our household."

"Not for _her_ , maybe," says Scully, unable to keep the disgust out of her voice now. "But it's going to make one hell of a difference for every man, woman, and child currently being viewed as nothing more than property. Isn't that enough to sway her opinion in one direction or another?" Mulder looks down at her curiously.

"You really don't like her, do you?" he observes. "And you haven't even met her."

"I don't need to meet her," spits Scully. "I'm sorry, Mulder, but that sort of self-centered attitude is abhorrent to me. Not caring about something as important as this just because she doesn't see it as having an effect on her, personally? I find that disgusting."

"Hey," says Mulder, his voice suddenly sharp. "You're talking about someone who's very important to me. I don't expect you to like her, but you don't _know_ her, Scully. Not like I do. And I would very much appreciate you not passing judgement on her without even meeting her first. Not if you respect me or value my friendship at all." Scully lapses into a brooding silence, her anger stewing hotly in her gut. 

She doesn't need to meet Diana in order to know how she feels about the woman. Anyone who can look at the suffering of a human being, of millions of human beings, and shrug it off as unimportant because she thinks that it's not going to have any impact on her supposed future household, is not someone that she trusts herself to meet- not without saying things that will likely result in Mulder never speaking to her again.

"Scully," Mulder says, as they approach their tent, "I'm sorry, okay?" He reaches out and touches her arm gently. "I just... I think that I'm probably not painting her in a very positive light, you know? She's a good person, she really is. And I just... don't like hearing her put down. I promise you, if you got to know her, you would like her, too." _I doubt that_ , Scully thinks, but she keeps it to herself. She's well aware that there's no sense in pushing him too far, especially not now, when they're going to be riding side by side every day, when they're continuing to share a tent at night, when he's going to be relying on her to be his right-hand-man, presumably until the end of the war, whenever that may be.

"I'm sorry," she sighs, doing her best to sound sincere. She _is_ sorry, after a fashion: sorry that she's offended him, even if she's not the least bit sorry for how she feels. "I guess maybe I just worry too much. The idea of letters with details of our regiment's movements being sent south, and potentially being intercepted by someone who can use the information against us... it's troubling." Mulder says nothing, but he looks thoughtful. "I only ever tell my sister Melissa where we are in the most generalized sense, and only when we're about to move on that same day, so that the information will be useless within hours. And those letters are going north to New York, not south to Virginia." Still, Mulder is quiet. "You want me to be your lieutenant, right? To be your right-hand-man?" 

"I do," Mulder concedes.

"And would I be correct to surmise that my duties would include tactfully pointing out decisions that could, potentially, compromise the safety and security of your men?"

"You would," Mulder admits. Cautiously.

"Well, then, _Sir_ , I respectfully submit that this practice of putting sensitive information about the position, plans, and movements of our regiment has the potential to endanger both you and the men under your command- not to mention the men of the other regiments marching and fighting alongside us. Not because of the trustworthiness of the recipient, but because of the possibility of such communications being intercepted." Mulder is silent. "Respectfully. Sir." Scully holds her breath... and after a tense moment, Mulder chuckles and shakes his head, smiling ruefully.

"You're going to make me regret this, aren't you Scully?" he says. "Making you my aide?"

"Not if you want someone who will always tell you the truth, even if I think that hearing it might anger or offend you," she replies.

"All right, Scully, you win," Mulder says, still smiling. "I see your point, and I concede that letters sent from members of our regiment- myself included- should contain only personal information and, at most, a general idea of our location- particularly if said letters are heading south." He looks at her pointedly. "Is that satisfactory?"

"Completely satisfactory," Scully replies, grinning. Mulder continues to look wary, though all traces of anger are gone.

"You're not going to let me get away with anything at all, are you?" Scully's smile widens.

"Not a thing," she promises. " _Colonel_ Mulder."


	7. Chapter 7

JULY 30, 1863  
NEAR WASHINGTON, D.C.

 

"You should come with me next week," Mulder tells Scully out of the blue one morning, as they sit alone by the dying fire in front of their tent, drinking tin cups of coffee that's nearly too bitter to stomach.

"Where are you going?" asks Scully, puzzled. The regiment has been encamped just outside of the Capital for three days, and every indication has been that they'll be staying here for some time.

"I've requested a week's furlough," Mulder says, "and it's been granted. I'm going south to Fredericksburg to visit my family. They're staying in town, at the mansion of my father's friend, Diana's adoptive father." Scully's eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"They've agreed to see you?" she asks. The last she had heard, Mulder was still only writing to Diana, had still heard nothing from his sister Samantha, and certainly had had no word from his parents.

"They have," he says. "Diana set the whole thing up and convinced them to come. Though I suspect the only thing that they're actually interested in is trying once more to convince me to give up and come home- or worse, to desert and enlist in the Army of Northern Virginia, instead." He shakes his head in disgust. "I don't really care, since I don't plan on listening to any of it one way or another."

"Why go at all, then?" asks Scully, perplexed. "It doesn't sound as though it's going to be a pleasant visit."

"It won't be, believe me," Mulder agrees. "But... my sister is going to be in Fredericksburg, as well. Diana says that too many Northern troops were hanging around the plantation in Culpeper, and it was making them nervous, so they've relocated to Fredericksburg until the armies have moved on somewhere else. The chance to see Samantha is enough to convince me to go, no matter how much time my father spends yelling or my mother spends crying." He pauses. "And besides, Diana will be with them, as well." Scully feels as though something in her stomach has curdled.

"What do you want me there for, then?" she asks. She's aware that she sounds jealous and petulant, and hates herself for it, but she's not quite able to stop herself.

"I want you to meet them both, of course," says Mulder, seeming completely perplexed at the question. "You're my best friend, Scully. I might find my parents' beliefs and attitudes embarrassing, but I'd like for you to meet my sister, and I'd very much like for you to meet Diana, so that maybe you can stop thinking so badly of her."

"I don't think badly of her," Scully lies, but it's not convincing even to her ears, and it's certainly not convincing to Mulder's.

"You won't," he promises. "Not once you've spent a week with her."

"Does your family know that you're inviting me along?" Scully asks.

"No, but it won't be a problem," Mulder says dismissively. "The house is spacious. They'll have a room for you, I'm sure." Scully chews her lip, thinking. She's flattered, certainly, that Mulder wants her to meet his sister, though she's much less enthusiastic at the notion of meeting Diana.

"I suppose that I could go," she ventures hesitantly. She looks around them to be sure that they're truly alone; their tent is pitched some distance from the others, but still, she can't be too careful. "But... would it be too much trouble if I shared your room, while we're there? I think I would be more comfortable that way, and maybe less worried about some over-helpful housemaid accidentally walking into my bedroom before I'm ready and finding me out."

"I... I suppose that would be all right," Mulder says, and Scully's stomach clenches at his reluctance.

"I know, you're probably desperate for some space between us, after all these months of such close quarters," she says, with pretend flippancy. "It's all right, I can just-"

"No, Scully, that's not it at all," Mulder reassures her. "I don't mind sharing a room with you... quite the opposite, in fact. It's just... it could be awkward, if Diana were to find out the truth, you know? She's trusting, but something tells me that she might be more than a little uncomfortable with the idea of me sharing a room with another woman." Scully sits up straight, horrified at the very thought.

"She can't know, Mulder," she insists. "She can't find out. You have to promise me- oh, God, you haven't told her already, have you?" Panic is beginning to build in her throat, and Mulder, alarmed, reaches out and lays a calming hand along her arm.

"Scully, relax, it's all right!" he says soothingly. "I haven't told her anything at all, I promise. All that she knows about you is your name, that you're deadly with a rifle, and that you're my best friend. And if you want it to stay at that, I swear I'll make sure that it stays that way." In spite of her momentary fear, Scully feels head-to-toe warm at the idea of Mulder thinking of her as his best friend. "But Scully, I really don't think you have to be so terrified of Diana finding out. I've told you before, she's a good person, and she would never betray a secret like that."

"It's not that I think she would," Scully says, fully aware that she's lying through her teeth. "It's just that I don't want _anyone_ to know. You know, and that's enough. Each new person who finds out means that my position is less secure." She gives him a meaningful look. "I trust you, Mulder, and that's it. I need it to stop there." Mulder smiles warmly at her.

"Then that's where it stops, Scully," he says, "I promise."

"Besides," Scully points out, "if Diana wouldn't like the idea of you sharing your room with me while we're there, if she knew about me, how would she feel about us sharing a tent every single night when we're out here with the army?" Mulder thinks this over.

"She probably wouldn't like that very much, either," he concedes, nodding. "So I suppose you're right; it's better that we keep her in the dark for now." He glances over at her. "I mean... it's not like anything is happening... but still, why even give her cause to worry?"

 _Why, indeed_ , Scully thinks to herself, just barely holding back a sigh.

Scully is honestly not sure whether she's glad when her request for a week's furlough is granted right along with Mulder's. Regardless, it is, and before sunrise on the morning of August the third, she's mounted on her horse, heading off down the road towards Fredericksburg by Mulder's side. As the sun comes up, the day turns fine and warm, and the ride is pleasant, even though Scully's stomach is doing backflips for nearly the entire trip. She's not sure which prospect she finds more unnerving: the idea of meeting Mulder's parents, who are bound to dislike her solely based on the fact that she is a Union soldier, or the idea of meeting Mulder's supposed fiancee, to whom she can't quite find in her heart to give a fair chance. 

Mulder doesn't seem any less nervous than Scully is, though he's obviously excited at the prospect of seeing both Diana and his sister Samantha. 

"I haven't seen her in six months," Mulder says. "I wonder how much taller she's grown since I've been away." He looks sideways at Scully, smiling playfully. "I'm betting she'll be a few inches taller than you, at the very least."

"Who, Diana?" Scully asks, wrinkling her nose, and Mulder laughs.

"No, I know for certain that Diana is taller than you," he says. "She's nearly as tall as I am." _Great_ , thinks Scully dejectedly. _One more thing that Miss Perfect has over me_. "No, I'm talking about Samantha. My sister."

"How old is she?" asks Scully. "Samantha, I mean."

"She turned fourteen just last May," says Mulder, pulling his canteen from his belt and taking a long drink from it. "I think you'll like her a lot, Scully. She's like me, only considerably more cheerful."

"So... like you, but pretty, and pleasant to be around," comments Scully, grinning playfully, and Mulder pauses in re-sealing his canteen just long enough to flick a handful of water at Scully, who laughs. "Do that again," she goads him. "It's hot today." In response, Mulder splashes her with half the contents of his canteen, and she lets out a high-pitched peal of laughter that no one could ever possibly mistake for anything other than purely feminine. Scully is immediately horrified at her lapse, but Mulder looks delighted.

"I've got to make you do that again sometime," he says.

"You'd better not," Scully warns him. "Not unless you're planning to blow my cover and end up having to find a replacement aide-de-camp." Mulder sobers instantly.

"No, you're probably right," he agrees, glancing around the deserted front yards along the road leading into the town. "I guess I'll just have to save that for after the war, then." He smiles warmly at Scully in a way that sets her heart fluttering and her stomach twisting, though she can't quite think why, not at first. It's only an hour later, when they're inside the town proper and her entire body is a knot of nervous energy, that she finally figures it out: for just a moment, possibly for the first time since she had put her uniform back on, immediately after the moment he had seen her standing bare-chested in the moonlight, he had seen her as a woman, instead of just another soldier.

Well... almost. She's not counting the way that he frequently looks at her in the mornings, as she's just drifting back towards consciousness. For all she knows, she's only dreaming those looks into her eyes as she wakes each morning, those gazes that sometimes seem almost to border on longing. For all she knows, that's just what Mulder looks like at the start of every day, before he's fully cognizant of what his face is doing.

They're well into the crowded bustle of the city when Mulder at last reins up his horse in front of an embarrassingly large brownstone mansion. It's surrounded by an impeccably manicured front garden and an ornate wrought-iron fence, and a tall, slender young girl with long, dark brown hair cascading in curls down her back is standing on the wide front porch, watching them approach. Scully knows, the moment that the girl's face breaks into a wide smile that perfectly matches Mulder's (though her nose is somewhat less prominent), that this must be his little sister, Samantha.

Mulder leaps from his horse, grinning from ear to ear, and rushes up and through the front gate, along the path, until he meets his sister halfway, swooping her up off the ground and spinning her around in a crushing embrace. Samantha giggles gleefully as her brother sets her back down on the brick path.

"Let me look at you," Mulder says, stepping back, smiling widely. "I've told you before, Sam, if you don't stop growing, you're going to be taller than all of the boys, and then none of them are going to want to marry you!" Samantha gives her brother a good-natured smack on his arm.

"Very funny, Fox," she chastises him. "You haven't even been here for five minutes yet and you're already making fun of me."

"Technically I haven't been here yet at all," Mulder says. "I've yet to set foot in the house."

"Close enough," says Samantha. She looks past Mulder's shoulder, to where Scully is standing, unsure, on the curb, her horse's reins clutched in her hand as she watches the reunion. Mulder grins at her and waves her forward. 

"Scully, come and meet my sister," he calls. A groom suddenly seems to materialize out of thin air, taking both her horse's reins and Mulder's, leading the animals off to the side to a driveway that Scully assumes leads to the stables. Still feeling nervous, Scully follows Mulder through the gate and up the brick path, until she's standing by his side. "Samantha," says Mulder, "I'd like you to meet Lieutenant Daniel Scully, my aide. Scully, this overgrown bean sprout is my little sister." Samantha glares at Mulder one more time; then, smiling welcomingly at Scully, she curtseys and extends a delicate hand to be kissed, the very picture of good breeding.

"It's lovely to meet you, Lieutenant Scully," Samantha says. "Fox has told me so much about you in his letters." Mulder raises his eyebrows at her.

"So you have been getting them, then?" he asks. "I honestly wasn't sure if Mother and Father have been intercepting them." Samantha rolls her eyes.

"No, I've been receiving them," she says. "It's my responses that are being intercepted, I think." Mulder shakes his head in disgust.

"I suppose that I should be grateful that they let you hear from me at all," he says. "It wouldn't have come as a surprise if they had decided that reading my letters would be too dangerous for your fragile sensibilities." Samantha fixes her brother with a stern look.

"If you're going to begin your visit by being that negative, Fox, then you may as well ride straight back to your regiment right now," she admonishes him. "No matter how angry Mother and Father may be with you, they've spent the past six months worrying about you night and day." She takes Mulder by the arm, then turns to Scully, extending her other arm to her. "Let's go inside, shall we? Everyone is waiting for us." 

Samantha leads them up onto the porch and through the heavy wooden front doors, into an opulent entrance hall. A servant waits to take their jackets and hats, and while Scully surrenders her cap, she elects to hang onto her uniform jacket. They follow Samantha through the front hall and into a parlor where, in spite of the warmth of the day, a fire is burning in the hearth. The man standing next to it, his hand resting on the mantlepiece, is the spitting image of Mulder, save for the grey sprinkled heavily through his dark hair, and the deep lines on his face. He crosses the room slowly, deliberately, his stern face completely devoid of a smile. He extends a hand to Mulder, who shakes it nervously.

"Fox," he says, "it's good to see you again." 

"You too, Father," Mulder says, and Scully has time to think that neither man sounds particularly sincere before Mulder turns to her. "Allow me to introduce my aide-de-camp, Lieutenant Daniel Scully." Scully steps forward hesitantly, unnerved by the dispassionate way that Mulder's father surveys her. "Scully, this is my father, William Mulder."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir," Scully says, and she just barely stops herself from trying to deepen her voice, from trying to seem more impressive in front of the imposing older man. "Thank you very much for welcoming me here this week." William seems to be barely holding back a scowl.

"Awfully young to be a lieutenant, aren't you, Mr. Scully?" he asks, and Mulder's expression darkens. Before he can intervene, however, there's another voice from the corner of the room.

"Come now, Bill, you of all people should know that age is hardly the most important measurement of a young man's competence." Scully turns to see a stately older woman, her clothing fine and her countenance proud, rising slowly from a sofa near the front windows. She carries herself with a great deal of dignity as she crosses the room to her son, kissing him stiffly on the cheek before turning and offering her hand to Scully. "How do you do, Lieutenant Scully?" she asks, as Scully kisses the back of her hand. She scarcely has to bend in order to reach it.

"This is my mother, Teena," says Mulder. The introductions complete, he looks curiously around the parlor. "Where's Diana?"

"Charles had an errand to run across town," says William. "He took Diana with him, but they should be back sometime before dinner." Mulder frowns.

"Didn't she know that I'd be here by lunch?" he asks.

"I'm sure she just forgot, Fox," says Teena. "She's been quite busy since we arrived last week, visiting with all of her old friends."

"Oh, she knew," pipes up Samantha from the chair where she's settled herself. "She said that she had things to do this morning, and that she would see you when she sees you, Fox."

"Hush, Samantha," snaps Teena, but the teenager doesn't look the slightest bit repentant. She catches Scully's eye and grins brashly at her. Clearly, Scully thinks, Samantha is no more fond of Diana than Scully is.

Scully decides, right then and there, that she likes Mulder's little sister very much.

"Lieutenant Scully, might I call a servant to come and take your things upstairs?" Teena asks.

"I only have this," says Scully, gesturing to the small pack strapped to her back. "Please don't go to any trouble, I can take it up myself." Teena seems surprised.

"You certainly do travel light," she observes.

"Military life, Mother," says Mulder. "Only the generals get to bring along more than what they can carry on their backs."

"Well, then, Fox, would you care to show Lieutenant Scully to his room, so that he can put his things down and freshen up before lunch?" asks Teena.

"Actually, Mother, Scully's going to stay in my usual room," Mulder says. "He gets a little spooked in strange places, sometimes, so I told him that he should just bunk with me, the same as we do when we're in camp."

"You're certain that will be all right with you, Lieutenant?" asks Teena anxiously. "You won't feel too crowded?"

"Not at all, Mrs. Mulder," Scully says. "As you can see, I don't require a great deal of space." This earns a small smile from Teena. "And please, call me Daniel."

"Daniel, then," she says. "Well, go on up with Fox, then, if you're sure. Lunch will be served in about half an hour. I'm sure you're both hungry after your trip."

Scully follows Mulder up the sweeping staircase and along the landing, until he stops at a door near the end of the hall. 

"This is the room I usually sleep in, when we're staying with Diana and her father," he tells her. He opens the door to reveal a handsome, high-ceilinged bedroom, with tall, narrow windows, dark walnut furniture, and a massive four-poster bed dominating most of the space along the left-hand wall. There's a fireplace with a mantle carved from the same wood as the furniture, to match, with a deep blue velvet sofa in front of it. A bookcase stands against another wall from corner to corner, stocked with a handful of well-worn, well-loved volumes.

Mulder drops his pack carelessly at the foot of the bed and kicks off his boots before flopping back onto the mattress with a loud groan of pleasure. "Ohhhh, Scully," he sighs, "get over here and feel this." Scully puts her own pack down more carefully and bends to unlace her boots before depositing them next to Mulder's. She climbs up onto the bed, which is considerably higher than any she's encountered before, and stretches out on her back, sinking into the thick feather mattress and soft down comforter.

"Wow," she breathes, closing her eyes. "I had completely forgotten what this feels like." She wriggles a bit, sinking deeper into the bedding. "Not that any of our beds at home are anywhere near as luxurious as this." She closes her eyes, which, she realizes almost immediately, is a mistake: it would take very little for her to fall asleep right now. Instead, she turns her head to look at Mulder, who, she finds, is already watching her closely. "What?"

"I'm just realizing," he says, "I really don't know that much about your family, other than their names, and who they want you to marry."

"I suppose not," Scully concedes. "We're not that interesting, really, when it comes down to it. What did you want to know?"

"Well, for starters, it would be good to know what your father does for a living," says Mulder, rolling on his side to look at her. "I know my mother is most likely going to ask, and I'm embarrassed to admit that I don't even know, myself."

"In all honesty, Mulder, you probably already know much more than you think you do," Scully tells him. "My father is a career Navy man, and so is my older brother, Bill. My younger brother Charlie never had any interest in joining up- he never had much interest in anything, really, beyond loafing around, drinking, gambling, and flirting with any girl who crossed his path- but after he got a local girl in trouble, my father gave him a choice. He could either join the Navy, or he would be cut off from the family and forced to fend for himself."

"Seems like a fairly easy decision," chuckles Mulder, and Scully shakes her head.

"You would think so," she says. "But Charlie has a defiant streak a mile wide and he gave serious thought to moving out on his own, just to spite my father. My sister and I talked him out of it." She sighs heavily. "I might not have, if I had known that we would be at war almost immediately after he joined up. It probably would have been easier on my mother to have at least one man in her family not off fighting."

"And yet," observes Mulder quietly, "that didn't stop _you_ from enlisting."

"My mother left me with even less of a choice than my father gave Charlie," Scully says darkly. "Charlie, at least, had the option of leaving home and finding a job to support himself, rather than joining the Navy. No one would have batted an eye, and if he'd wanted, he could even have gone to a different town where no one would have known about the girl carrying his child. Or he could have married her and settled down in our town, using my father's good name to secure him a job." She rolls on her side as well, mirroring his position. "I had a choice between marrying a man I didn't love, a man who would expect me to change every aspect of my personality that makes me who I am, a man with a definite potential for cruelty... or facing a lifetime of guilt from my parents for offending my father's friend, and harming my family's reputation, by turning down his proposal."

"So you made up an option of your own," says Mulder, smiling.

"Two options, if you'll recall," Scully corrects him. "I did try to become a nurse first. I only resorted to enlisting when it became clear that there was no other way for me to hide myself from Daniel and the rest of my family." Mulder nods, and they lapse into a silence that, while not all together comfortable, isn't exactly awkward, either. Scully's never been this physically close to him, not without other soldiers surrounding them, and certainly not since he's learned the truth about her.

Mulder seems to be thinking along the same lines as Scully. He quirks a bemused smile at her.

"We'd be causing one hell of a scandal ourselves right now, if my parents really knew all about you," he observes. "Does this count as being in bed with a woman? Because in all honesty, I never have been before, so this is a first for me." Scully blushes at his off-hand attitude.

"Really?" she asks. "Never visited a house of ill repute in any of the towns we've passed through?"

"Nah," says Mulder dismissively. "Those places are hotbeds of disease, from what I hear." Scully bites her lip, thinking, wondering whether to ask the question when she might not like the answer.

"And you and Diana never...." Mulder shakes his head, and Scully feels unaccountably relieved.

"We're not even officially engaged, not yet," he says. "I think she might slap me for even suggesting it." He peers at her curiously. "Am I to assume that you never...." Scully shakes her head vehemently, blushing.

"Daniel made overtures, more often than I'd care to admit," Scully says. "Never when my parents could overhear, of course... but by the time I ran off, he was becoming quite persistent."

"Probably not a tempting prospect," says Mulder. "Not if the picture of him that you've painted for me is true to life, at any rate."

"Not only that, but Daniel is exactly the sort of man who would pressure a woman into behaving improperly with him, and then turn around and shame her for giving in to her baser instincts." Mulder wrinkles his nose.

"I don't think I ever want to meet this Daniel," he says. "I suspect we wouldn't get along all that well." Scully smiles.

"No, you'd probably have a great deal to teach him about being a true gentleman," she agrees. Mulder, smiling at the compliment, rolls back onto his back, then drags himself to a sitting position.

"We'd better get washed up and go downstairs to lunch," he says to Scully, over his shoulder. "Otherwise my mother is likely to come up here looking for us." Scully sits up as well, and Mulder points to a basin and a ceramic jug that sit ready on a mirrored vanity across the room. "If I know my mother, she's made sure that there's already water for washing with. You can go first, if you like."

"Thanks," says Scully gratefully, sliding down off of the bed and crossing to the vanity. Feeling more than a little self-conscious, keenly aware of Mulder's eyes on her, she strips off her uniform jacket... and then, throwing caution to the wind (and not wanting to show up to lunch with a soaking-wet shirt), she unbuttons her uniform shirt and slides that off, as well. 

Mulder's sharp and sudden intake of breath is loud enough for Scully to hear from across the room.

She splashes the cold, clear water on her face, making liberal use of the cake of soap that rests beside the basin, and glories in the feel of having truly a clean face and hands for what seems like the first time in forever. She dries herself off with a folded towel that sits waiting off to the side, then turns to look at Mulder. His face is red, but he grins brashly at her.

"So that explains why I never suspected anything before," he says, nodding at the long strip of linen fabric wrapped around Scully's upper torso, binding her breasts flat against her chest. "Very clever."

"It helps that I don't have all that much to hide in the first place," Scully says, shaking out her shirt before pulling it back on, tucking it in, and buttoning it. "My sister Melissa would have had a much more difficult time pulling this off, even if she _is_ taller than me."

"One day, I would very much like to see the way you look out of uniform," Mulder tells her, and Scully feels, for a moment, as though her heart has thudded to a stop in her chest. She's certain that he couldn't possibly mean that the way that it sounded, but still, the thought sends a flash of heat through her. Mulder realizes, immediately, what he's said, and his face flushes all over again, the red of his cheeks matching her own. "That's not what I meant!" he says. "I just meant... I'd like to see how you look when you're... well... you." Scully smiles.

"You mean when I'm all decked out in ribbons and lace?" She laughs as she retrieves her uniform jacket and slides it over her shoulders. "I hate to destroy whatever image you've been building of me in your mind, Mulder, but even before I joined the army, I was never exactly the most feminine of women. I was always a bit of a tomboy growing up."

"Somehow, I have no trouble believing that," says Mulder, standing and stripping off his own jacket, quickly followed by his shirt. "But still... I'm finding it difficult to picture you in a dress, with your hair long and piled on top of your head, wearing one of those ridiculous little hats that ladies find so fashionable as of late."

"I promise you, the chances of you ever seeing me in a ridiculous little hat are quite slim," Scully tells him, as he bends over the basin and washes the dirt and dust from his suntanned face and arms. "But if it means that much to you... one day, when the war is over, once my hair has grown long enough to be braided and put up, I'll come and visit you, and I'll wear a dress." Mulder pauses buttoning his shirt back up and grins at her.

"You promise?"

"I do," Scully says. "But for now, I think we should get back downstairs. Your mother mentioned lunch, and I'm so excited over the idea of a meal that doesn't include bacon, beans, or hardtack that I'm likely to embarrass myself by throwing away my utensils and burying my face in my plate like a horse at a trough."


	8. Chapter 8

AUGUST 3, 1863  
FREDERICKSBURG, VIRGINIA

Downstairs, two new arrivals are standing in the entrance hall, waiting for them. Standing in the parlor doorway is a grey-haired man about the same age as William Mulder, puffing away on a cigar that's filling the entire room with its stench. Across the hall from him, closer to the bottom of the stairs, is a tall, buxom young woman with shining dark hair, wearing an expensive, fashionable gown- and the exact sort of ridiculous little hat that Mulder had mentioned only moments ago. This, Scully surmises, must be Diana, a guess that's confirmed when Mulder breaks into a wide smile at the sight of her.

"Diana!" he exclaims, almost jogging down the last few stairs. Diana smiles warmly.

"Fox, Darling," she says, taking his hand and allowing him to kiss her cheek. "It's so wonderful to see you! I'm sorry that we weren't here when you arrived, but we had an urgent errand that just couldn't wait."

"That's all right, you're here now," says Mulder, and Scully resists the urge to gag. Mulder seems to remember her at that moment, and he turns back, motioning for her to come forward. "Diana, this is my good friend, Lieutenant Daniel Scully, my aide-de-camp." Diana looks down at Scully, proffering a limp hand to be kissed.

"Good to meet you," Scully says, hoping that she sounds something approaching sincere. "Mulder has been talking my ear off about you for months." Diana smiles thinly.

"Has he, now?" she asks. "I believe I remember him mentioning you, too, in one of his letters." Mulder chuckles nervously.

"More like all of them, I think," he says. Diana raises her eyebrows, looking at him with gentle reproach.

"Fox, I had no idea that you were bringing someone along with you," she chastises him. "Why on earth didn't you say anything?"

"It was sort of last-minute," Mulder explains.

"Come now, Diana," says the man with the cigar, crossing the entrance hall to them. "It's not as though we're short on space. There's always plenty of room in our house for guests. And besides, you know as well as the rest of us that Fox prefers to do everything spur-of-the-moment." Mulder doesn't look nearly as happy to greet the man as he was to see Diana, but nonetheless, he's perfectly cordial when he shakes hands with him.

"Scully, this is my father's friend, Charles Spender," he tells Scully. “This is his house.” Spender shakes hands with her, and Scully finds it difficult to keep from shuddering at the clammy, sweaty feel of the man's grip.

"Thank you very much for having me at your home, Mr. Spender. I'm very sorry about the short notice." Spender looks at her appraisingly, just long enough to make her uncomfortable.

"And are you a Virginia runaway, as well, Mr. Scully?" Spender asks her. "A rebel against the rebels, as it were, like our Fox here?"

"Father, stop," says Diana, but there's not much conviction in her voice. Scully notices Mulder clenching his jaw.

"No, my family is from Pennsylvania," Scully replies. "From West Chester."

"Near Philadelphia," Spender says. "I know it well."

"I visited Philadelphia with you once, didn't I, Father?" recollects Diana, curling her lip. "I found it such an awful, smelly place. So dirty, compared to Washington, and especially compared to Fredricksburg." Sully grits her teeth.

"I suppose I should be glad that I'm not actually from Philadelphia, then," she says, putting extra effort into keeping her smile on her face.

"Why don't we all go sit down and have some lunch?" suggests Mulder hastily, taking Diana's arm and steering her across the entrance hall. Scully follows, hoping very hard that she will not be required to sit next to Diana. She's been looking forward to a real meal for a very long time, and somehow, she suspects that relaxing enough around this woman to be able to enjoy eating will be difficult enough without being forced into closer proximity to her.

Scully needn't have worried, however; she's seated next to Mulder at the long dining room table. Samantha is quick to take the seat at his other side, and Diana is forced to settle for sitting across the table from him. She doesn't look happy about it, and even though Scully knows that she's being petty, she can't help but be at least a little bit pleased by this.

As soon as everyone is seated around the table, a veritable army of smartly-dressed, dark-skinned servants appear and begin laying out the noon repast. Scully does her best to keep her eyes from bugging out of her head, to keep herself from drooling, as dishes of foods she's long forgotten the taste of are placed before her. There's chicken, its crisped skin braised with fragrant herbs, and a bounty of vegetables, and loaves of thick-crusted bread still hot from the oven, and even butter, real butter, something that hadn't always been on the Scully table even in the days before the war. Whatever the wartime food shortages for civilians in Virginia may be- and Scully has heard that they're fairly severe- Charles Spender has clearly found a way around them. Scully loads her plate to capacity, not turning down a single thing that's offered to her.

"So, tell us about yourself, Daniel," asks Teena Mulder, as she holds up her goblet for a waiting servant to fill with wine. "Did you attend West Point? Bill so badly wanted Fox to attend, but Fox, of course, was dead-set on Harvard."

"No, Ma'am," says Scully. "I wasn't quite old enough to be attending college when the war began. I enlisted as a private about five months ago."

"Goodness, you must be quite young indeed," says Teena.

"Eighteen years old in February, Ma'am," Scully replies. That much isn't a lie; her age and date of birth had been the only part of her enlistment paperwork that had been fully accurate.

"And what does your father do?" Teena asks.

"He can't be more than a tradesman, if you only entered the army as a private," interjects Diana. "Even Fox managed to start out as a sergeant, didn't you, Darling?" Mulder looks distinctly uncomfortable at Diana's rudeness, and busies himself with spreading a thick layer of butter onto his bread.

"My father has been in the Navy since he was fifteen," answers Scully, determined not to give Diana the satisfaction of seeing her offended. "He's now a captain."

"And he couldn't secure you a better position than being a private?" asks Diana. "How strange. I would think that being the son of an officer with an honorable reputation would have helped pave the way to a better rank for you."

"Diana," says Mulder, a quiet warning in his voice. She bats her eyes at him, all innocence.

"What, Fox?" she asks. "I'm only curious. For all I know, the Yankee army does things differently than we do in the South. In _our_ army, a father who has already advanced in rank could write a letter of introduction for his son, to help him along."

"I suppose that I _could_ have asked my father to do something like that for me," says Scully, "but I preferred to make my own way. I would much know that rather any progress I make has come about as a result of my own hard work and determination, rather than rely on my father's reputation. I prefer to earn all promotions myself."

"And believe me, Scully has earned the one that he's just gotten," Mulder puts in, before Diana can interrupt again. The pride in his voice makes Scully smile. "I wouldn't be here right now, at this table, if it hadn't been for him."

"Is that so?" asks Teena, eyes wide. Mulder nods emphatically.

"He saved my skin more than once in July, at Gettysburg," he says. And Mulder relates the story of Scully calling for the men to stop shooting when he had ventured beyond the wall in search of ammunition, and of how Scully had shot the Confederate officer who had aimed his pistol at Mulder's head right at the end of the fight. By the time he's finished, all eyes at the table (with the exception of Diana's and her father's) have gone from suspicious to grateful, as they look back at Scully.

"It appears that we all owe you a debt of gratitude, Lieutenant Scully," says Bill Mulder gruffly, speaking for the first time since sitting down to lunch. "It's been hard enough for us to lose our son to your army. It would have been far harder to lose him for good."

"Fox, you've never told me in your letters that it's that dangerous out there," says Samantha, staring accusingly at her older brother.

"It's a war, Samantha," says Diana dismissively. "Of _course_ it's dangerous." Samantha glares at Diana, but says nothing. Mulder reaches over and pats his little sister's shoulder reassuringly.

"I wouldn't worry too much, Sam," he tells her. "Scully does a pretty good job of keeping me in check. I don't think that anyone or anything is ever going to get by him."

"Still, Fox, you shouldn't take such chances," Samantha chastises Mulder.

"Sometimes I have to, Samantha," says Mulder gently. "It's all part of being an officer, part of looking out for the men under my command."

"But I promise you, Samantha," Scully interjects, "the more risks he takes, the tighter I'll be holding his reins. I see it as my solemn duty to get your brother home in one piece when all of this is over." Samantha smiles warmly at Scully. At the edge of her gaze, she catches Diana rolling her eyes, but Mulder, unfortunately, is looking at his sister, and doesn't notice.

When the meal is finished, the servants re-appear to clear away the empty dishes and the leftover food. It feels odd to Scully not to jump up and help- at home, clearing the table after dinner had always been her responsibility. Her mother had cooked every meal, with her daughters' help, and when it was finished, Scully had cleared the table, Melissa had washed the dishes, and Scully had then dried them and put them away. She realizes that it's likely that none of the people sitting at this table have ever washed a dish in their life.

"I think," says Diana with a weary sigh, "that I'm going to go upstairs and have a nap." Mulder is surprised.

"Diana, I just got here," he protests. "I thought that maybe we'd have some time to sit and talk."

"You'll be with us for a week, won't you, Fox?" she asks. "We'll have plenty of time to catch up. I was hoping you would take me to the theater a time or two while you're here. Father never has any interest in going with me, and he never allows me to go on my own."

"I should think not," says Teena. "A young, unmarried lady, out in the town, unchaperoned?" She shudders. "People would talk, and you know how I abhor gossip."

"Unless it's gossip about other people, that you get to pass along," grumbles Bill, and Samantha and Mulder both snicker. Teena pretends not to have heard anything her husband has said.

"Bill, dear, I think a nap sounds good to me, as well. I'm sure you and Charles have plenty to do this afternoon."

"There are some matters in town that need seeing to," agrees Charles Spender, whom, Scully suddenly realizes, has not said a word since taking his seat at the head of the table when they had all sat down to lunch. "Will you accompany me, William?"

"Of course," says Bill, pushing back his chair from the head of the table and standing. Mulder stands, as well.

"Would you like Scully and me to come with you?" he asks hopefully. Bill and Charles exchange glances, eyebrows raised, and the atmosphere in the room abruptly shifts, a definite feeling of awkwardness settling over everyone.

"No, Fox, that's all right," says Bill, with an air of forced joviality. "It's nothing that would interest you, and anyway, I'm sure you and Lieutenant Scully are tired from your ride here this morning. Charles and I will be back in time for supper tonight."

"Oh," says Mulder, deflating visibly. "All right, then." Bill and Charles leave, the latter withdrawing a fresh cigar from his coat pocket and lighting it before they've even left the room, leaving a whiff of smoke behind them as they close the dining room door.

"Come, Diana," says Teena, standing as well, and taking Diana's arm. "It's the perfect warm afternoon for a nap." She and Diana follow the men to the door. As they reach it, Teena stops and turns. "Samantha, dear, will you be joining us?" Samantha Mulder, still seated defiantly in her chair, tilts her chin up obstinately.

"I'm going to stay with Fox and Daniel," she says. "They've come all this way to see us, and it certainly doesn't seem right to leave them sitting down here by themselves." Teena chooses not to respond to this, and a moment later, she and Diana are gone. Scully can hear their footsteps on the staircase out in the entrance hall. Next to her, Mulder heaves a sigh.

"Clearly they're all overjoyed to see me," he says, shaking his head. "Why did they even agree for me to come and spend a week here, if none of them can even stand to be in the same room with me?" Samantha lays a hand on his arm.

"Forget about them, Fox," she says. "Let's you and me take your friend Daniel on a walk around the neighborhood, all right?" Mulder smiles at her, and Scully says a silent thank-you to God that her friend has at least one good, kind person in his family to come home to. She can't imagine receiving a welcome this cold at her own house, not even after disobeying her parents and running away. Certainly, they'll be angry when she finally shows up again, and there will be plenty of raised voices, to be sure, but Scully knows that there will also be joyful tears and embraces, things she's yet to see any of in this cold Fredericksburg mansion.

Samantha goes upstairs to her room to fetch her parasol, and Mulder and Scully wait for her in by the front door.

"I wonder why Father didn't want us to come along with him?" Mulder wonders aloud. "Usually, my father likes me to shadow him in all of his business dealings, so I can learn how to manage his holdings and be ready to take everything over smoothly when the time comes."

"Maybe the business he and Mr. Spender need to see to isn't related to your family's plantation," suggests Scully. "You said that Mr. Spender is active in politics. Is it possible they're attending a political meeting? Because if that's the case- if they're on their way to meet with a bunch of Southern politicians- they couldn't very well come strolling in with two Union officers trailing behind them, could they?" Mulder appears to be mulling this over.

"I suppose that could be it," he concedes. "Not to mention...." He scowls darkly. "It would be one hell of an embarrassment for Father, to be sure, to have to introduce me to all of his Confederate cronies as his son, colonel of a regiment in the Army of the Potomac."

"It's his loss, Fox," Samantha reassures him, coming back down the stairs to join them. "And your gain, really. Now, instead of spending this lovely day in a dark, stuffy room somewhere, choking on Mr. Spender's disgusting cigar smoke, you and your Lieutenant Scully get to enjoy the sunshine while escorting a bright, lovely young lady around the neighborhood." Mulder grins down at his little sister as she takes his arm.

"You clearly haven't learned all that much more about humility than you knew six months ago," Mulder observes, and Samantha's cheeky smile only widens. She pulls her brother toward the front door, and Scully follows them out onto the porch, down the brick front path, and through the gate, out onto the sidewalk. Once there, Samantha extends the arm not held by her brother, and Scully readily takes it.

The early afternoon is sunny and warm, but enough of a cool breeze is blowing to keep the day from turning truly oppressive. Even so, Scully doesn't envy Samantha Mulder her corset and heavy dress. Scully herself might be wearing a wool jacket, not to mention several layers of tightly-wound linen around her chest, but she would still wager she's more comfortable right now than any other woman out walking the streets of Fredericksburg today.

"So tell me what it's been like at home, since I left," says Mulder, as they reach the end of the block and turn right. "Have Mother and Father been complaining about me the entire time, or only during Sunday dinners?"

"They don't talk about you at all, for the most part," sighs Samantha. "I don't know if it's because they're still too angry, or if it's because they're afraid for you and they don't like to think about it any more than they absolutely have to."

"My money's on the first one," grumbles Mulder. "It took three letters home before they would even agree for me to come and visit them this week. I'm still surprised that Father didn't just retreat back to the plantation on his own and have you and Mother visit with me, without him."

"He doesn't seem that angry," ventures Scully hesitantly. She doesn't know William Mulder, but there have been none of the cold silences and cutting words that she'd thought she might end up having to sit through.

"It's early yet," says Mulder. "And also, he's just met you. He won't want to behave like too much of a bastard in front of a perfect stranger... at least, not yet."

"Fox, language," Samantha chides him.

"'Bastard' isn't a swear, Sam," Mulder says.

"No, it's not, but it's not a particularly nice word, either. And plus, it's not even accurate. Our father knows who his father was. If you want to call Father something uncouth, call him a blowhard, instead." Scully lets out a snort of surprised laughter before she can stop herself, and Mulder looks down at his sister, eyes popping out of his skull.

"Samantha!" he exclaims. "Where did you hear a word like that?"

"Eavesdropping on some of the officers that Father has had to dinner, back at the plantation house," says Samantha. "That's not the worst I've heard, believe me."

"Oh, I believe it," Mulder says, shaking his head. "Father would lock you in your room for the next twenty years, though, if he heard you using words like that, so you'd better watch yourself." The trio continues in silence a bit longer.

"Do you prefer staying here in town, Samantha, or in the country, at the plantation?" asks Scully, casting about for something to talk about.

"The plantation, to be sure," says Samantha. "It's much quieter. Whenever we're in Fredericksburg, people are constantly coming and going... and Mr. Spender is always here, with his stupid cigars. And Diana is always with him."

"It’s his house, Samantha. And what's wrong with Diana being around?" asks Mulder, clearly offended. Scully, on the other hand, suddenly wants to throw her arms around Samantha.

"She's different when you're away, Fox," Samantha tells him. "She talks to me like I'm eight years old, like I'm too stupid to understand anything that's going on."

"I'm sure you're exaggerating, Sam," says Mulder dismissively, but Samantha shakes her head.

"I'm not, Fox, I promise," she says. "Diana keeps telling me that I'm far too young to have any political views of my own, that I only say the things that I say because I've heard you say them, and you're my big brother, so I'll always believe everything that you tell me."

"Fifteen is plenty old to have formed your own opinions, I think," says Scully. "Especially when it comes to issues like slavery. Mulder, didn't you say that you were uncomfortable with the idea when you were much younger than your sister is now?"

"That's exactly what I've tried to tell Diana," Samantha says, smiling gratefully at Scully. "I've told her that even a child can distinguish right from wrong, and fifteen is plenty old enough to know how I feel about this. But she always just says that I'm being tiresome, and that I should go and find something to occupy my time, and to leave her alone."

"Sam, Diana doesn't care about politics at all, she never has. You already know that. You probably _were_ being tiresome, going on and on about a subject that's not interesting to her when she just wants to relax and enjoy some time in the city."

"Slavery isn't a political issue, Fox! It's a moral issue and you know it! How can anyone not be interested in treating other human beings with respect and dignity?" Samantha angrily jerks her arm away from her brother's. "I don't see how you could want to marry someone like that, someone who can see a human being whipped and worked to death, and just shrug it off and go back to her needlepoint."

"Enough, Sam," says Mulder sternly. "Nobody's saying that you have to like her, but you do need to respect my choice... and if it's not too much trouble, it would be nice if you could respect Diana, as well."

"Oh, I will," says Samantha coldly. "Just as soon as she learns to respect me in return. I'm not a little child anymore, and I would like to see her recognize that." She glares at Mulder. "And it would be nice if you would stick up for me just a little bit here, Fox. Is it really all right with you for someone to talk down to me the way that she does, or is it just all right because it's her?" Mulder heaves a sigh and runs a hand through his hair.

"I'll talk to her, all right?" he asks. "I'll remind her that I was just as opinionated as you are, when I was fifteen, and I'll ask her to be a bit kinder."

"You can ask her," Samantha sighs, "but I doubt she'll listen. Not once you're gone again, at any rate." Mulder clenches his jaw, but says nothing. And as much as Scully's less noble side is enjoying this, she senses it's time to change the subject.

"Listen, Samantha," she says, "I was hoping that you could do me a small favor." Mulder cocks an eyebrow at Scully, confused, and she smiles wickedly at him. "I've been hoping that maybe you might be able to furnish me with one or two embarrassing stories about your brother when he was younger. You know, something that I can pass around the ranks, just to make sure that our new colonel isn't taking himself too seriously." Samantha's eyes immediately begin to sparkle with mischief, and Mulder pales considerably.

"Scully, please remember that when we get back to camp," he warns her, "I could very easily have you assigned to chopping down trees, or digging ditches, or clearing brush, or whatever other unpleasant and back-breaking labor detail I can come up with." Scully grins.

"I know that, Mulder," she says. "Which is precisely why I'm going to need ammunition on hand, just in case." Samantha, being the quintessential little sister, is only too happy to oblige, and by the time the trio has returned to the house, Scully is equipped with enough mortifying tales of a younger and more impulsive Mulder to guarantee that, if she so chooses, she'll be able to blackmail her way into all of the easiest assignments until the end of the war.


	9. Chapter 9

AUGUST 3, 1863  
FREDERICKSBURG, VIRGINIA

 

The house is still mostly quiet when they enter, though Scully can hear the distant sounds of the evening meal being prepared in a kitchen somewhere. Samantha announces that she's going to go upstairs and rest a bit before dinner, and Mulder is just about to give Scully a tour of the rest of the house when the parlor doorway opens, admitting Diana and Charles Spender. Diana beams at Mulder the moment she sees him and crosses the entrance hall, shouldering Scully aside and taking his hands.

"Fox, I've just found out the most wonderful news," she gushes effusively. "The local theater is putting on your favorite Shakespeare play, and Father has just managed to get us tickets to see it tonight!"

"'Twelfth Night?' Really?" Diana frowns, confused.

"I thought... isn't your favorite Shakespeare 'Macbeth,' Darling?" Mulder shakes his head.

"No, it's always been 'Twelfth Night,'" he says. Diana waves her hand dismissively.

"Oh, well, no matter," she says. "It's still Shakespeare, isn't it? Anyway, I had wanted to see the play with you tonight, but it's been sold out for weeks. And then Father told me, just now, on our way back here, that he's gotten three tickets for tonight's showing!" Mulder turns to Scully.

"What do you say, Scully? Want to go watch a bunch of people who are only pretending to die horrible, bloody deaths? You know, for a little change of pace?" Diana suddenly frowns.

"Fox..." she says, hesitantly, glancing back at Spender. "I thought that Father would take the third seat. He _is_ the one who paid for the tickets, after all."

"I'm not going to just ditch Scully on his first night here, Diana," Mulder protests. "That wouldn't be right. Why don't you take Samantha, instead, if there's only going to be room for three?" Diana scowls.

"I think that would be a waste of a ticket, frankly," she says. "A child certainly isn't going to be able to truly appreciate Shakespeare."

"Oh, I don't know about that," says Scully casually. "My tutor had me start with the sonnets when I was ten, and then had me reading the plays within the year. I'm sure Samantha's education has been similar." Diana looks down her nose at Scully, who stares coldly right back at her.

"Diana, dear," Spender says, speaking for the first time in his oddly high-pitched voice, "why don't the three of you go and take in the show after supper tonight? I'm feeling a bit too sleepy for a night of theatre, to tell you the truth."

"But Father," Diana protests, "you went through all this trouble to get tickets. You should go, if anyone should."

"I was only going in order to chaperone the two of you, my dear," Spender says. "I'm certain that Lieutenant Scully is a perfectly honorable young man, who will see to it that nothing untoward takes place."

"That seems like a solution that everyone can live with, doesn't it?" asks Mulder. Diana pouts, clearly unhappy with the arrangement. Scully can almost see the gears turning in Diana's head as she tries to find a way to exclude her fiance's friend, without seeming overly petulant or unkind, but in the end she's unable to come up with anything. And so, a half an hour after dinner has been finished, the three of them climb into the Mulders' finest carriage and set off for the theater.

Even with Mulder sitting between her and Diana, the atmosphere, both during the carriage ride and once they've arrived at the theater, is awkward and stilted. Diana seems determined to leave Scully out of every conversation, while Mulder is just as determined to include her, and the result is that the second half of the carriage ride and the entire wait before the curtain rises are spent in a frosty silence.

The performance is decent, though it's definitely not the best that Scully's ever seen, and with Mulder as a buffer between herself and Diana, she's able to focus. By the time that the lights in the auditorium come up for intermission, in spite of the mayhem onstage, Scully is feeling far calmer than she had when they had left the Mulders' house.

"Oh, Fox, I've just seen someone I know heading for the lobby. Would you mind if I went and said hello to her?"

"No, I don't mind," says Mulder. "Scully, you want to come along?"

"Actually, Fox, I should probably go on my own," Diana says, before Scully can respond. "She and her husband are native Virginians, and... well, I'm not sure they would like your current outfit." She gestures at Mulder's uniform.

"Oh," he says, surprised. "All right, then. Scully and I will be here when you get back." Diana turns and makes her way out of the auditorium and into the lobby. Scully whirls on Mulder, incensed.

"How can you let her treat you like that, Mulder?" she demands. He seems honestly confused.

"Like what?" he asks.

"Like she's ashamed of you. Making you wait in your seat because your uniform might offend some woman she's probably only met at society luncheons?" Mulder scowls at her.

"It's a complicated issue, Scully. She's not ashamed of me, but she _will_ have to deal with her friends gossiping about me once I've left again. I don't have any trouble sparing her that particular inconvenience."

"Yes, God forbid she should ever be _inconvenienced_ ," Scully says coldly. "We wouldn't ever want her to have to develop principles of her own and actually choose a side, now, would we?"

"That's enough," says Mulder sharply. "I don't understand what your problem is with Diana, but I'm not willing to listen to you insult her." 

"Oh, no, you're only willing to turn a deaf ear when she insults me," Scully spits back.

"When has she insulted you?" asks Mulder, and Scully shakes her head, disbelieving. Is he really this blind, where this woman is concerned? One way or another, Scully knows that she needs to exit this conversation before she says something that could make things awkward once they're back with the regiment. She stands quickly.

"I need some air," she says, and she strides off before Mulder can stop her.

The lobby is crowded and stuffy, and Scully doesn't pause there for very long, elbowing her way through the throngs of people until she reaches the doors and passes through them to the marginally cooler night outside.

There are fewer people out on the sidewalk in front of the theater, but it's still too many for Scully's liking, and she strides off down the block, desperate for just a moment or two alone. She reaches the alleyway between the theater and the building next to it and stops, taking a deep breath.

In the relative quiet, Scully becomes aware of hushed voices nearby, coming from the dark alley. She's about to return to the front of the theater, not wanting to eavesdrop on someone's private conversation, when suddenly, the owner of one of the voices- a woman- becomes suddenly, briefly louder.

"No, Alex, I've told you before, that won't work." With a jolt, Scully recognizes Diana's voice. Scully is confused; is Alex short for Alexandra? Diana had said that her friend was a woman, after all.

"So try and convince him another way," answers a decidedly unfeminine voice. "How hard can it be for a woman to get a guy who likes to talk to keep on talking?" Scully freezes in place, her heart racing. She presses herself against the side of the building and listens closely.

"That won't work, either," Diana says. "You don't know him, Alex. You don't know how much of a gentleman he can be." There's a brief silence. "Our best bet," Diana continues, so quietly that Scully has to strain to hear her, "is to continue the way we are for now. Charles agrees with me. I can't be too direct, or he'll wonder why." Diana's voice grows so quiet now that Scully can only make out a handful of words. "...things have changed... is always near him now... can't be sure...."

"You'll figure out a way," the man says. "But for now, you need to get back." At that, Scully whirls around and rushes back down the sidewalk to the theater doors, managing to slip in amongst the crowds of people returning to their seats before Diana is out of the alleyway. She deliberately slows down as she reaches Mulder, doing her best to conceal just how out-of-breath she is. Mulder glances at her briefly as she sinks back down into her seat.

"Scully," he says in a low voice, "I'm sorry. It's my fault, the way Diana's been acting towards you. I didn't give her any warning that you would be coming home with me on this visit. She probably expected to have me all to herself. She'll warm up to you by the end of the week, I'm sure."

"Mulder," says Scully quietly, "we need to talk. I just heard-" She stops as she catches sight of Diana re-entering the auditorium. "Never mind," she says quickly.

"Scully, what-"

"Later," hisses Scully. Mulder looks confused, but he shrugs and acquiesces.

"It is _so_ much cooler outside," Diana says as she resumes her seat. "I honestly forgot just how warm it gets in here during the summer." The house lights dim, flare, and dim again at that moment, and the rest of the audience finds their seats. As the lights go down and the curtain rises again, Scully's mind is not on the play at all... it's on the surprising number of empty seats in the auditorium behind them.

Hadn't Diana said that this was a sold-out show?

The carriage ride back to the house seems interminable. Both Mulder and Diana seem tired, so conversation is light, and Scully spends most of the ride looking out of the window, wondering how exactly she's going to tell Mulder about what's happened. As it stands, she's not even sure what it is she had overheard outside of the theater. Neither Diana, nor this mysterious Alex, had ever said Mulder's name, so Scully can't be certain that that's who they had been talking about. 

The fact remains, though, that Diana had lied about having seen a friend, in order to run off to speak with an unknown man. She seems to have lied about the play being sold out, presumably because she had arranged this meeting during intermission. No matter what, it looks extremely suspicious, certainly suspicious enough to warrant mentioning to Mulder.

When they at last come to a stop in front of the mansion, Mulder climbs out first, then hands Diana out of the carriage and onto the sidewalk. He starts to offer his hand to Scully next, but catches himself mid-motion and stops, smiling wryly at her. She scowls at him- what if Diana had caught that and had been suspicious?- and jumps down from the carriage on her own. She follows Mulder and Diana up the path and through the front door. When Diana pauses at the bottom of the staircase and turns to Mulder with a positively nauseating expression on her handsome face, Scully immediately makes a beeline straight for the parlor without giving either of them a second glance. She has a great deal of faith in her own self-control, typically, but seeing Mulder kissing Diana is probably more than she trusts herself to handle at the moment.

It's less than a minute later, thankfully, when Mulder joins her, alone, sinking down onto the sofa beside her and leaning back, his eyes closed and a look of surprising peace on his face. Scully is loath to shatter it, but she knows that if she waits too long, she's liable to lose her nerve and revert back to just trying to keep the peace.

"Mulder," she says quietly, "did you happen to notice anything strange at the theater this evening?" Mulder looks down at her, frowning as he thinks it over.

"No, I can't say that I did," he says. "Why? Did you see something?"

"Sort of," Scully says. "Well... I heard something, more accurately... but I also noticed...." She glances towards the parlor doorway, then back at Mulder. "Didn't Diana say that tonight's performance was completely sold out, that her father had somehow managed to get three tickets even though it was supposed to have been impossible?"

"Yeah...." says Mulder warily.

"Mulder, did you happen to notice how many empty seats there were in that auditorium? I doubt if a single row was completely full. What are the chances that that many people bought tickets and simply failed to show up?" Mulder frowns.

"Maybe Mr. Spender was misinformed," he says. "Is that all, Scully? It doesn't exactly seem like evidence of a grand conspiracy to me."

"No, Mulder, that's not all," says Scully. "I overheard something, when I went outside during intermission."

"What, Diana talking to her friend, the Southern sympathizer that she thought might be offended by my uniform?" Scully shakes her head.

"Whoever she left the theater to speak with, Mulder, it wasn't who she told you that it was." Mulder frowns.

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, for starters, it wasn't even a woman," says Scully quietly. Mulder narrows his eyes.

"Who was it, then?"

"I don't know who it was," Scully admits. "I didn't see him. I went for a short walk outside of the theater, to get some air and get away from the crowd, and I heard their voices down an alleyway. Whoever she was talking to, his name was Alex, and he was telling her to convince someone- another man- to confide in her about something important." Mulder doesn't look terribly impressed by this intelligence.

"So... you overheard Diana talking with someone, but you don't know who it was, or what it is they were talking about... and you think that Diana might have been wrong about the performance being sold out." He shakes his head. "Forgive me, Scully, but I'm not seeing any real cause for concern here."

"She _lied_ to you, Mulder," Scully insists. "She lied about the show being sold out, and I think she did it because she needed to meet this man- whoever he is- during intermission. Which, I might add, was another lie, because she obviously didn't ask you to stay in the theater because she thought that your uniform might make things awkward for her friend. There _was_ no friend."

"Scully," sighs Mulder, taking on an air of patience, as though explaining something to a very slow or very petulant child, which only serves to infuriate Scully. "For all you know, the man that she was speaking with was her friend's husband. She mentioned him, didn't she?"

"Then where was her friend during all of this, then?" Scully demands. "And why meet in a dark alleyway, instead of in the theater lobby, or at least on the sidewalk out front? What possible- what _honorable_ reason would she have to hide away from everyone else's sight, if she was only talking to her friend's husband about something completely innocuous?"

"Well, what do _you_ think they were talking about, then?" asks Mulder, crossing his arms. "What sinister explanation have you invented in your imagination during the carriage ride back here?" Scully glares at him.

" _I_ think," she says, "that Diana needed to be at the theater tonight to meet this Alex character, but she couldn't just get in a carriage and go off to the theater by herself without arousing suspicions. And she knew that you would be less likely to want to take in a show on your first night here, when you would be tired, and probably just want to rest and be with your family. So she made up a story about the performance being sold out, so that you would _have_ to escort her tonight. And that's why she was so reluctant to agree to me coming along."

"She was reluctant to have you come along because her father had bought the tickets, and she didn't think that it was right for him to have to give up his seat," counters Mulder.

"In addition to all of that," continues Scully, ignoring the interruption, "Diana mentioned someone named Charles when she was talking to the man in the alleyway. That's her father's first name, isn't it? Only he's not her real father, he's her adoptive father, so she might refer to him by his first name outside of his household." She fixes Mulder with a penetrating look. "She does, doesn't she?"

"Yes, she calls him Charles, or Mr. Spender, out in public," agrees Mulder reluctantly. "But I still don't see what-"

"Mulder, I think that they were talking about you," says Scully. "I think that this 'Alex' person was convincing Diana to try harder to get information about the army out of you." Mulder throws himself against the back of the sofa with a loud groan.

"Not this again, Scully," he protests, but again, Scully ignores him.

"Diana told Alex that you would be suspicious if she pressed you harder for information, that they would have to be content with what they were getting for the time being." She pauses, unsure of whether to share the rest of her hypothesis, knowing it's likely to make him furious. "She also said something about you being too much of a gentleman... Mulder, I think that this Alex person wants her to seduce information out of you."

Mulder's reaction is immediate, and every bit as extreme as Scully had worried that it might be. He whirls on her, his expression thunderous, grabbing her by the arm hard enough to hurt.

"Take that back, Scully," he orders. "You've gone too far with this. Take it back right now." Scully yanks her arm out of his grasp, standing up and moving out of his reach.

"I won't," she says stubbornly. "I won't take it back, because I'm almost positive that I'm right, Mulder, and if I am, then you need to be on your guard." Mulder gets to his feet and strides forward until he's less than six inches away from Scully, glaring down at her ferociously.

"Diana has been one of my closest friends for years, Scully," he growls. "I know her. You don't."

"You might think that you know her, Mulder, but maybe you don't know her as well as you think that you do... at least, not anymore. Maybe at one time, she didn't have any political leanings, but now, I'm almost positive she's using you to pass information on to her father. And if he's really as active in Confederate politics as you say that he is, then how do you know that he isn't passing every word that you say right along to Jefferson Davis?" Mulder clenches his jaw, grinding his teeth. He closes his eyes and takes a long, slow breath, as though to calm himself before he speaks again. 

"Diana would never do any of the things that you're accusing her of, Scully," he says firmly. "I don't understand why, but you're making this personal." Heat flushes Scully's body as her temper begins, at last, to get the better of her.

"And why on earth shouldn't it be personal, Mulder?" she demands. "We're talking about protecting the movements of the army for which I fight! We're talking about my life! I think that it's safe to sat that I have a personal interest in making sure that our army's secrets _stay_ secret, as does every other man fighting in that army- yourself included!"

"I trust her, Scully," Mulder says. "Until I've been given a reason to do otherwise- a _real_ reason, real, honest-to-God evidence, not half-formed guesses about a conversation in an alleyway- I will continue to trust her. You're going to have to accept that, whether you approve of it or not, if we're going to go on the way that we have been." Scully glares up at him, refusing to step back even an inch, refusing to be intimidated.

"Is that an order, _Sir?_ " she asks. Mulder clenches his jaw again.

"Yes, I think it is," he says quietly, firmly. Scully closes her eyes and nods.

"In that case, I think that I would like to return to the regiment now, with your permission," she says. Mulder rolls his eyes.

"Scully, don't be overdramatic," he says. "There's no reason for you to leave and you know it."

"I do not wish to spend any more time in that woman's presence. Even if it turns out that her little alleyway rendez-vous _was_ completely innocent, I don't think that I can stand another day of her treating me the way that she has been... especially since you're so reluctant to do anything to put a stop to it." She shoulders past him without waiting for an answer. "I'll go and get my things from your bedroom, and I'll be on my way. I assume my horse is in your parents' stables, behind the house?" He says nothing, but she's not about to allow his angry silence to sway her. "I'll see you back at camp when the week is up, then. Please give my sincerest apologies to your parents. I'm sure you'll figure out some kind of excuse. Maybe not as creative as the ones you've come up with on Diana's behalf, but still, you'll manage."

He doesn't come after her, not when she goes up to his room for her haversack and her gear, not when she comes back downstairs, and not when she finds her way to the stables and saddles her horse. When she mounts up in front of the house, she can just make out his shadow, standing in the window of the parlor... but she does not wave, and neither does he.

She's done as much as she can to put him on his guard. All that she can do now is hope that if Diana _does_ try to pump him for more information, the ideas that Scully has tried to plant in his brain will have taken root enough for him to be suspicious.


	10. Chapter 10

**PART THREE**

AUGUST 1863  
FREDERICKSBURG, VIRGINIA

Mulder can't get to sleep at all that night, lying in his bed. The irony is not lost on him: after months upon months of sleeping on the ground, with only a thin bedroll as a mattress, he's tossing and turning restlessly when he's finally lying on a soft, comfortable surface. Scully would be laughing her head off at him, if she were here.

That is, if she hadn't fallen asleep immediately after her head had made contact with the pillow... which, knowing her, would have been unlikely.

He's startlingly lonely, here in this luxurious bed. He's gotten used to having Scully curled up a foot away from him every night, in their tent. Truth be told, he had sort of been looking forward to sharing a room with her, to lying in bed talking without worrying about which of his men might come to the tent looking for them and overhear their conversation... to rolling over and watching her sleep in the dim light from the windows... to enjoying their shared warmth underneath the bedclothes....

Mulder mentally gives himself a firm shake. _That way lies madness_ , he reminds himself, as he's needed to do more and more often since discovering Scully's secret. Things are already complicated enough without him mooning over her... but oh, it's hard to keep those thoughts at bay when she's always so damn _close_. Maybe her leaving and going back to the regiment is really a blessing in disguise. He's not certain, in the privacy of his bedroom, lying close to her in this bed without seven hundred men sleeping a few feet away, that he would be able to fully control himself. At best, it could be awkward; at worst, catastrophic. He and Scully have a good, solid camaraderie between them, and it would be madness to jeopardize that.

Of course, it may have been jeopardized already, after tonight's confrontation. He's sorry that Scully had felt that she had needed to leave, but maybe it's for the best. Maybe after a week apart, she'll be ready to let go of her ridiculous suspicions about Diana.

Not, he thinks, that Diana had really gone out of her way to be welcoming to Scully, but really, that's just the way that she's always been when her plans have been altered at the last second. In her letters, Diana had been writing about how much she'd been looking forward to spending time with him, and he can imagine that the sudden and unexpected appearance of an outsider had come as a nasty shock. It's true that maybe she could have been a tiny bit more gracious, but, again, that's just the way that Diana is. Scully just isn't used to it, not the way that Mulder is, so of course she had been offended.

 _Lucky Diana doesn't know the truth about Scully_ , he thinks to himself with a smile. _Then she really would have pulled out all of the stops._

Morning finds him exhausted, pale with sleeplessness, with dark circles under his eyes. His mother is concerned the moment that she sees him at breakfast.

"Fox, dear, didn't you sleep at all?" she asks him.

"Not much, I'm afraid," he says, smiling reassuringly at her. "I think I'll need another night or two to get used to sleeping in a real bed. I've been stuck on the ground for far too long."

"Be sure to relax when you can today," his mother advises him. "You really shouldn't have gone out last night, not on your first night home, not after riding all morning."

"I'll be fine, Mother," he promises her. Bill Mulder, sitting the table to his wife's left, looks around the dining room table, frowning in confusion.

"Where is your Lieutenant Scully?" he asks. "Is he still sleeping?"

"I can make sure to have the cook keep some food for him, if you'd like," says Teena.

"Well...." The one benefit of being unable to get to sleep all night has been that Mulder has had plenty of time to think up an excuse for Scully's abrupt departure. "There was a messenger in the night, after everyone but us had gone up to bed," he lies. "A letter had come to the camp for Lieutenant Scully. Must've gotten there not long after we had left. There had been some urgent news from home, and someone had come to the encampment to speak with him. He went for his horse and left immediately." Samantha looks up from her food, dismayed.

"He's gone already?" she asks. "Without saying goodbye to any of us?"

"Unfortunately, he is," says Mulder. "He asked me to tell all of you that he's very sorry for leaving so suddenly, but he didn't feel that he could wait until morning."

"Oh, dear," says Teena, concerned. "I hope that everything is all right. Could his mother have fallen ill?" Mulder shrugs.

"I suppose it's possible," he concedes. "Or his sister, maybe. I just hope that nothing has happened to his father or to his brothers."

"Whose brothers?" Diana sweeps into the dining room, looking impeccable as always. Seeing that the chair next to Mulder is empty, she seats herself at once and waves to the servants to bring her her food.

"Lieutenant Scully's," says Teena. "Fox was just telling us that his young friend received an urgent message in the middle of the night and had to leave at once." Diana smiles widely.

"Oh, he's gone already? He won't be returning?" She doesn't even bother to hide her delight, and Mulder feels a stab of annoyance.

"No," Mulder says. "He won't. I just hope nothing serious is the matter."

"I'm sure everything is fine," says Diana dismissively. "Fox, would you like to take a carriage around town after breakfast? Just the two of us?"

"I'm not sure that's proper," says Charles Spender gruffly.

"Oh, it's fine, the driver will be there the whole time," Diana says lightly. "So what do you say, Fox? You wouldn't believe how much has changed around the city since the last time you were here!" Mulder shrugs.

"I guess that sounds all right," he says. He turns to his sister, who is stabbing moodily at her eggs, looking displeased. "You want to come along, Sam?" She glares at him.

"With just the two of you?" she asks. "No, thanks. I'd rather spend the morning scrubbing the stables."

"That can be arranged," says Teena curtly, frowning at her daughter's rudeness. Mulder, however, can't help but smile just a little bit. It really is too bad that Scully had left, because he has a feeling that she and Samantha would have enjoyed one another's company quite a bit.

They call for the open carriage as soon as they're finished eating, and fifteen minutes later, they're climbing in as the driver takes his place in front of them. They set off around the crowded streets of the town, Diana pointing out each new house or business as they pass it.

"Diana," says Mulder, when he finally can't put it off any longer, "I need to ask you something important." She smiles warmly at him, batting her eyelashes.

"Yes, Fox?" For a moment, he almost loses his nerve; she's clearly expecting him to ask something quite different than the question that he has in mind.

"Last night, at the theater, you went outside at intermission to say hello to your friend and her husband," he says, and Diana's expectant smile withers instantly. 

"Yes, I did," she says slowly. "What of it?"

"Well... Lieutenant Scully went outside, as well," he says, "and he overheard you talking to someone." He's not sure if it's just his imagination, but he could swear that Diana's eyes flare with panic for barely half a second. Her face is calm and smooth again before he can be certain.

"Oh, did he?" she asks, her tone cold. "I wouldn't have pegged him for an eavesdropper. Nasty, crude habit, if you ask me."

"I don't think that he really meant to overhear you," Mulder says carefully. "It's just that... you had said that you were going to talk to your friend, but Scully heard you talking to a man, instead. Someone named Alex." He's not imagining it this time; Diana's face pales noticeably. "Who was he, Diana?" There's a brief pause, and then Diana begins to speak very quickly.

"Alex is another friend, Fox. Not _my_ friend, you understand- that would be inappropriate, wouldn't it? Can you imagine the gossip? Well," she amends, "from the sounds of things, the gossip has begun already, but I wouldn't have imagined that it would be a friend of _yours_ to paint me in such an unfavorable light. But like I said, he seemed to be rather crude, very lower-class. I don't know why you would associate with someone like that."

"I didn't say that he said anything unkind about you," Mulder points out (though, of course, Scully most certainly had, but Diana doesn't need to know that). "All I said was that he had mentioned you talking to a man named Alex."

"As though it were any of _his_ business," Diana continues. "It's not even any of _yours_ , when it comes right down to it, but I know how you can be, Fox, so I'll tell you all about it. Alex is a friend of my father's, and he's hoping very much that my father will hire his son in his offices back in Culpeper. Only Alex doesn't want my father to know that it's his son, you see; he and my father had something of a falling out, about a year ago. Alex is worried that my father may turn the boy away without even finding out whether or not he's suited to the position, if he knows who the boy's father is."

"So what did this Alex expect you to do about it?" Mulder asks.

"He wanted to find out whether or not I thought that my father is going to hire the boy, of course," says Diana. "I told him that I certainly wouldn't know; my father certainly doesn't share his business decisions with me." She smiles warmly at Mulder, suddenly sweet and coquettish again. "He'll reserve that sort of thing for the man that I marry, of course, but why would he trouble me with it?" Mulder doesn't take the bait; rather, he thinks over what Diana has said. It seems as though it could explain what Scully had overheard.

"There's one other thing," he says, deciding to go all in. "You told me that the play was completely sold out, that your father had managed to snag the last three tickets through sheer good fortune. Right?"

"Yes, that's right," Diana agrees, nodding.

"Well... why were there so many empty seats, then?" he asks. "If it was really a sold-out show, why would so many people not come to the performance?" Diana looks completely perplexed.

"Well, I'm certain I don't know _that_ , Fox," she says, her eyebrows raised. "Who am I to say why people change their plans at the last moment? There are all sorts of reasons why a person might buy a ticket to a play and then end up not attending." She leans against him, taking his arm and holding it close to her body. "Why are we talking about this, Fox?" she asks. "We're supposed to be out here enjoying ourselves. I haven't seen you in _months_. Can't we just have a nice ride around the city together?"

"All right," Mulder acquiesces. For the time being, he's willing to accept that Scully had simply misunderstood what she had overheard. He'll have to remember Diana's explanation so that he can share it with her when he returns to camp... assuming, of course, that Scully will even speak to him, outside of what is strictly required by their positions.

The remainder of the carriage ride is completed in near-silence. Diana makes several attempts at beginning conversations, all of them related to some friend of theirs who just recently announced their engagement, or gotten married, or had a child, all of them making it blatantly obvious to Mulder what she would like to see happen before the week is out. Mulder very determinedly does not take any of her hints: he is, in fact, feeling less and less enthusiastic about the entire concept of their assumed engagement.

He tries to tell himself, as the carriage turns back onto his parents' street, that his newfound ambivalence is completely unrelated to the thoughts he's been having- or, more accurately, struggling _not_ to have- about Scully. It's just that more and more, lately, Mulder has been thinking long and hard about why, exactly, he and Diana have been matched together, why it's always been a foregone conclusion, as far as his parents are concerned, that one day, they will be married.

Mulder has never told Diana that he loves her, nor has she ever said the words to him. They've shared a handful of kisses whenever they've found themselves with an unexpected moment or two alone, and he definitely feels _some_ thing when she presses her lips to his... but he's well-aware that attraction doesn't necessarily guarantee a happy marriage.

He's not, of course, fooling himself into thinking that his parents, or her stepfather, are all that concerned about whether or not the marriage will be happy. His father and Charles Spender are more concerned with the combining and preserving of their respective fortunes than anything else... but Mulder, at least, would certainly like his marriage to be a source of joy. And lately he's starting to question whether or not Diana can really and truly give him that.

Mulder spends most of the week puzzling things over and missing Scully, wondering where she had gone and what she had done after riding away from his parents' house. Her week's furlough had already been granted, so she had been under no obligation to return directly to the regiment, but he can't think of anywhere else that she might go to spend the remainder of her time away. She's obviously not going to visit her mother, and her sister in New York City is too far away to visit on just a week of leave.

Wherever she is, he thinks to himself as he lies sleepless in his bed on his final night in Fredericksburg, he hopes that she's not still stewing with anger at him, that she might be willing to forgive and forget when they both return to camp. Resolving not to worry any more about it tonight, he rolls onto his side and closes his eyes, hoping for sleep to take him soon.

A noise on the landing outside of his bedroom catches his attention, and he rolls back, towards the door. For one wild moment he imagines that it's Scully, that she's come back for his last night, so that they might ride back to the regiment together tomorrow morning with their argument all but forgotten. He holds his breath as the doorknob turns... but the shadow that moves slowly and carefully through the door, shutting it behind her, is far too tall to be Scully. Too tall, even, to be Samantha. Which leaves-

"Fox," Diana whispers, her voice husky, "are you still awake?"

"Yes," he answers, pushing himself up into a sitting position. "Diana, what are you doing in here? If my parents see you, if your father catches you-"

"They won't, Fox," she whispers, crossing soundlessly to his bed. "I can hear your mother and father snoring right through his bedroom door _and_ mine."

"And yours?" Diana sits down on the edge of the bed.

"Father has gone out for the evening."

"And if he comes back and finds you out of bed?" In the dim light, he can just make out Diana's resigned smile.

"He won't be back, Fox," she sighs. "Not before morning." She shakes her head. "He still tries to tell me that he's going to 'all-night business meetings' whenever he feels the need to visit one of those places in less-savory neighborhoods that he would rather pretend that I don't know about."

"I doubt he's naive enough to think that you're ignorant of such things," says Mulder. "Is that what's wrong? Is it upsetting you, his going to places like that?" Diana frowns.

"Of course not," she says. "What makes you think that something is wrong?"

"I was just wondering why you're in my bedroom in the middle of the night, is all," Mulder says. Diana chortles softly, shaking her head.

"You really are _such_ a gentleman, Fox, do you know that?" she asks, reaching out and taking his hand. "It's almost infuriating sometimes, honestly." She pulls her legs up unto the bed and situates herself right next to him, hesitating for barely half a second before kissing him.

He's surprised, but he goes along with it willingly, burying his fingers in her long, dark hair, pulling it out of the braid she wears it in to sleep each night. She presses herself tightly up against him, pushing him back onto the bed, never breaking the kiss.

Mulder has no idea how to handle this. Diana has never been this forward with him. No woman ever has. He's somehow simultaneously aroused and terrified, with no idea of how she's expecting him to behave. Is this a test? Should he gently push her away and tell her that he wouldn't dare endanger her reputation? Or does she expect him to take things further, now that she's begun it? Is this her way of telling him she's willing to do more? Before he has too long to puzzle his way through it, she pulls back, ending the kiss.

"I'm sorry, Fox," she says in a breathy whisper. "I was just lying there in bed, thinking about how tomorrow morning, you'll be gone again, and I don't know when we'll be together next. I'm so scared that something is going to happen to you and I'm never going to see you again." She burrows her nose into his neck, tickling him behind his ear with her soft breath. "If you could just tell me something in your letters, anything, about your regiment, Fox, about what you're doing and where you're going...." She presses a gentle line of kisses along his neck from his ear to his collarbone, and slides one hand up under his shirt.

Warning bells suddenly begin to sound in Mulder's head, and he remembers, with perfect clarity, the accusation that Scully had made against Diana nearly a week ago, before riding off, their first night. 

_She also said something about you being too much of a gentleman... Mulder, I think that this Alex person wants her to seduce information out of you._

It could just be a coincidence. In fact, it probably is. This isn't the first time that Diana has lamented that he doesn't tell her enough in his letters. And it's perfectly understandable that she's terrified that after he leaves her tomorrow, he's not going to come home again. But still... just in case... for once, it might be prudent to be cautious.

Gently, carefully, he pulls Diana's searching hand out from beneath his nightshirt and disengages himself from her embrace, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. Diana frowns at him, confused.

"I don't understand, Fox," she says, the hurt in her voice nearly changing his mind and convincing him to just throw caution to the wind and hope for the best. "Don't you... don't you want to?" Her lower lip trembles, ever so slightly. "Don't you want _me?"_

"Of course I do, Diana," he reassures her. "But it's not the right time yet. What if we... what if I got you into trouble?" 

"Then we would get married," she says. "Wouldn't we?"

"Of course we would, I wouldn't leave you alone with something like that," he says quickly. "But, Diana... what if I didn't have a choice in the matter? What if you got pregnant and then I got killed in battle?" He squeezes her hand. "I can't take that kind of a risk with your life." She opens her mouth, ready to keep arguing her point, but he cuts her off. "There will be plenty of time for things like this later on, when the war is over," he promises her. "You have to at least give me something to look forward to, don't you?" This coaxes a small smile out of her.

"I know that I'm being impulsive, Fox," she admits. "It's just that... when you're gone, I spend so much time worrying about you, wondering whether or not you're safe. Every time that we get word of another battle, all that I can think of is whether or not your regiment was there." She gazes at him imploringly. "It would help so much if you would just tell me where your regiment is going whenever you write to me, Fox. Then I would know if you were near the fighting, or if you were safe." Again, the warnings are flashing in his mind. On the surface, it's an innocent request, and if Scully hadn't made her accusations at the start of the week, he might have been tempted to give in and agree. But now that the idea has been planted in his mind, it seems foolish to completely disregard it.

"I can't, Diana," he tells her. "You know that I can only say so much in a letter." She pouts, not trying to hide her displeasure now.

"Don't you trust me?" she asks him.

"Of course I do," he promises her. "I trust _you_ , Diana, but what if someone else were to get their hands on my letters? Our commanders are always warning us that there are spies everywhere, in the most unlikely and improbable of places. What if the soldier who gathers up my regiment's letters for delivery is a spy? Or someone working at the post office? Or the man driving the postal wagon, or even the man who delivers my letters to your house?" He shakes his head sadly. "There are too many hands that my words would pass through before they reach yours, Diana. I just can't take the risk."

Mulder thinks, for a moment, that she's going to continue to protest, and so he does the only thing that he can think of: he kisses her. Carefully and briefly this time, more chastely, so that there can be no mistaking his intentions. Diana gets the picture, and she gets up, off of his bed.

"I guess that I'll see you at breakfast, then?" she asks sadly, and he nods.

"I think that that would be best," he says. "For both of us." She nods and crosses slowly to the door. As she opens it, she pauses, gazing longingly back at him.

"If you change your mind, Fox," she says, with a hopeful smile, "you know where my room is."

"I do," he says. "But please don't lose any sleep waiting for me." She nods.

"Goodnight, Fox," she says.

"Goodnight, Diana," he replies, and she's gone, shutting his bedroom door carefully and quietly behind her. She walks so softly that he can't even hear her footsteps retreating down the hallway to her own room.

Mulder lies awake for hours, far too wound up and confused to sleep. All that he can think about is what Scully had overheard, what she claimed that Diana and this mysterious man- this Alex- had said in the alleyway, their first night here. At the time, the conclusions that Scully had drawn from the snatches of conversation she had heard had seemed ludicrous to him, so utterly paranoid as to be deemed laughable, and he had felt entirely justified in his fury at her.

Now, however, he's not nearly so sure.


	11. Chapter 11

AUGUST 8, 1863  
FREDERICKSBURG, VIRGINIA

 

The few belongings that Mulder has brought back to Fredricksburg are all packed and ready to go well before breakfast is served on Sunday morning. Having given up on sleeping several hours after Diana had returned to her own bedroom, he had had plenty of time to get packed and organized, and now, an hour after sunrise, he's carefully folding and putting away the clothing he's worn all week, and pulling on his uniform in its place. On his second day home, he had changed into civilian clothing left behind in his wardrobe, finding that his pants were too loose, thanks to the terrible army rations, and his shirts were too tight, thanks to the expansion of his chest and arms from all of the physical activity. He had only had to suffer through the discomfort for a couple of days, though, just long enough to allow his mother to thoroughly cleaned his uniform, leaving it as crisp and as blue as it had been on the day that he had first put it on. He thinks, regretfully, as he's buttoning his jacket, that it's too bad that Scully didn't stay long enough for her uniform to receive the same treatment.

Though, surrendering her uniform would have meant finding other clothes for her to wear in the meantime... which could have led to an awkward situation, as every man living in this house is at least a foot taller than Scully... so maybe it's better this way.

Everyone else is already seated in the dining room when Mulder makes his way downstairs, depositing his full haversack and his gear by the front door to pick up on his way out. He takes his seat next to Samantha, who smiles sadly up at him through a mouthful of toast, and across from Diana's empty seat. It doesn't look as though she plans to come down to breakfast this morning, which, given what had transpired in Mulder's bedroom last night, doesn't come as much of a surprise. He thinks it's possible that he had offended her a great deal when he had turned down her advances, particularly as he had not, in the end, changed his mind and gone to find her in her bedroom. But Mulder knows that he's made the right choice, and he can't bring himself to feel guilty about it.

Samantha, faced with her beloved older brother's imminent departure, is uncharacteristically quiet and subdued all throughout the morning meal, in spite of Mulder's best attempts to coax a smile and a bit of conversation out of her. Their mother and father, also, are both quiet, though there seems to be a strange air of foreboding about their silence, punctuated with pointed looks at one another, until finally, as the empty dishes are being cleared away by the waiting servants, Bill Mulder, seated further down the table, next to his wife, takes a deep breath.

"Son," he says, in his best stern voice, indicating that he means business, "we need to talk." Mulder can't say that he's surprised; he has, in truth, been waiting for this confrontation all week. He's impressed that his father has held out as long as he has, especially after Scully had left, relieving him of the potential embarrassment of having an outsider witnessing his inability to control his son.

"Father, I think that I already know what you're going to say," says Mulder with a heavy sigh, "so maybe I should save you the trouble of-"

"This has all gone on long enough," Bill says, continuing as though his son had not tried to interrupt him. "In truth, it's gone on far too long. When you first disobeyed me, when you ran off to join the Yankee army, I should have made my stand then. I should have pulled out all the stops finding you and getting you back where you belong. But foolishly, I didn't. I supposed that I assumed that you would wake up and come to your senses on your own, in time. Now, though...." He looks over at his wife, sitting at the other end of the table. She clears her throat, beginning her part of what is clearly a well-rehearsed speech. Mulder wonders how long the two of them have spent planning this joint attack. He thinks, forlornly, that it's likely the most they've spoken to one another in quite awhile- certainly the first time that they've agreed on something in years.

"It's become embarrassing, Fox," Teena says. "For your father, especially, both at home and here, among his peers. The things that are being said about you when people don't think that we can hear them, about all of us, really... well, they're not complimentary, not at all. And if things continue on as they are, there's some concern that your father's business relationships could begin to suffer." Of course, it all comes back to Bill's business, to his fortune. It has nothing whatsoever to do with Mulder's well-being.

"It's time for you to give up on this nonsense 'abolitionist' phase of yours and come home," says Bill firmly. "If you still want to play soldier, then fine, you can join up with the Army of Northern Virginia, where you belong, where your people are. I could probably even get you commissioned as an officer, if your position as colonel really means that much to you. But one way or another, you need to grow up, put your family's interests first, and for once in your life, do as I say."

It's exactly what Mulder had expected his father to tell him- though, really, he had expected it days ago, and not on the morning of his departure. But still, he's expected it, and he already has his answer ready.

"Father," he says, working to keep his voice calm, to keep things from escalating, if it's at all posssible, "I would have thought that, by now, you would know that this abolitionist 'nonsense,' as you call it, is not a phase. You and Mother have always brought me up to know right from wrong, and the practice of slavery is the absolute antithesis of everything that is good and right. It's immoral, it's abhorrent, it's disgusting, and I refuse to be a part of an army that fights for the right to continue with it." From his seat next to Bill, Charles Spender puts down his cup of coffee and clears his throat.

"What about being a part of a family that owns slaves, Fox?" he asks. "If you find the practice as abhorrent as you claim that you do, then certainly, you would not wish to marry into a family that supports it." Mulder, having no trouble whatsoever seeing exactly where Spender is going with this, narrows his eyes and jerks up his chin defiantly. He will not be threatened or coerced into changing his mind so easily, and he doesn't understand why his parents, or anyone who has known him as long as Spender has, would ever think this would work.

"I should think that any woman who marries me would understand that there would be no slaves in my household," he answers, some of the calm slipping from his voice at last. "I cannot control what her guardians do in their own homes, but I am certainly not required to permit slavery past my doorstep."

"And what if I were to say," Spender continues, a cold gleam in his eye, "that I would never permit Diana to marry any man who espouses such radical viewpoints? I have to think of her reputation, you know. It could easily be tainted by such an association." 

"That would be your right, of course, as her legal guardian," Mulder concedes. "But I would strongly hope that you would put the happiness of your ward, whom you've spent nearly a decade caring for, above your own notions of what is and what is not embarrassing." He holds Spender's gaze, refusing to blink, to give an inch of ground, and much to his surprise, the older man is the first to look away.

"I only want you to consider it," Spender says. "This war may not end the way that you want it to, after all. Marrying a Northerner could have a devastating effect on my Diana's social standing, and I would advise both of you to keep that in mind."

"Fox, dear, we all only want what's best for you," Teena pleads with him, trying a gentler tactic, now that threats have failed to get the job done. "Can't you understand that? It's you that we're all worried for." Samantha, who has been silently glaring down at the table until now, snorts loudly, derisively, and her mother frowns at her.

"You don't want what's best for him," Samantha spits out angrily. "You don't even care about what's best for him, and he knows it as well as I do."

"Samantha, hush," Teena snaps. 

"All you care about, all you ever _talk_ about, is how it's going to affect your business, your income, your precious money. That's all I ever hear from either of you: how you went to town and such-and-such asked you about Fox, about where he is or whether or not he's coming home, and how you just _know_ that the next time you meet with them, they're not going to want to do business with you because they think that your son is a traitor. _That's_ what you're both so worried about."

"Shut your disrespectful mouth, girl," says Bill sharply. "This doesn't concern you." 

"Oh, yes it does!" Samantha retorts, not the slightest bit cowed by her father's anger. "He's _my_ brother, every bit as much as he is your son. You might have decided to just write him off as an embarrassment, but I'm proud of him for standing up and doing the right thing, and if either of you had any sense left in your greedy little hearts, you would be, too."

"That's ENOUGH." Bill Mulder jumps to his feet, his teeth clenched in fury. "Leave this table at once and get upstairs, young lady. Your mother and I will deal with you later." Samantha, undaunted, crosses her arms over her chest and defiantly keeps to her seat.

"Not until it's time for Fox to go," she says stubbornly. "I don't know when I'm going to see him again, and I'm not spending the rest of his time here waiting upstairs in my room for a spanking, like the child that both of you still think that I am." Bill looks ready to grab her by the ear and force her upstairs, so Mulder gets to his feet.

"Don't worry about it, Sam," he says, ruffling her hair affectionately. "I think that it's time for me to go now, anyway."

"Has nothing that I've said had any effect on you at all, boy?" demands Bill. "This is our family's honor and good name that you are jeopardizing with your foolishness. Does that not matter to you at all?"

"Oh, it does, Father," Mulder says. "It matters to me a great deal... and that's exactly why I'm doing this. In ten generations, I would like for our descendants to look back on our family's history, and know that at least _one_ of their ancestors was on the right side of this war." He turns to his little sister. "Come on, Samantha, come and see me out." He strides out of the room, his sister as his heels, before anyone has the chance to say anything else, to find another way to try and stop him.

Grabbing his haversack and his gear from its place by the front door, Mulder crosses to the back of the house, taking the door at the back of the kitchen and crossing the yard to the stable, Samantha still by his side. He's shaking head to toe with anger, with the effort of controlling himself, of not storming back inside and punching his father in the face, and it's not until he's begun to saddle his horse that he's able to speak clearly.

"Did you really mean it, Samantha?" he asks, his voice not nearly as steady as he would like it to be.

"Mean what?" she asks.

"What you said in there," he says. "About... about being proud of me. For fighting for the Union, and not for the South." Samantha gives him a look that suggests that he's an idiot for even asking the question.

"Of course I meant it, Fox," she says. "If I could run away and join up with the Union army, too, I would, as soon as I was old enough to enlist." Mulder bites back a smile; it wouldn't do to tell Samantha that he knows one young lady who didn't let a trivial detail like being born a woman stop her from signing up to fight. The last thing in the world that he wants to have happen is for Samantha to get an idea like that into her head. He knows her well enough to know that she would act on it, and would end up just as embroiled in this conflict as he is.

"Thank you, Sam," he says, reaching out and pulling his sister tightly against him. She hugs him back just as forcefully, and when he releases her, she has tears in her eyes. She wipes them away, sniffling.

"I wish that you didn't have to go," she says. "I know you do... but I hate when you're not here. I miss you so much."

"I miss you, too," he says. "I'll keep writing you letters every week, all right? No matter where I am or what's going on."

"And I promise, I'll figure out a way to get all of my letters to you into the postman's hands without Mother or Father ever touching them," Samantha tells him. "Even if I have to get up at the crack of dawn to meet him at the gate every morning and bribe him to hide my letters inside of his coat."

"Just threaten him," Mulder suggests. "It ought to work. You were pretty terrifying in there, just now." He sighs regretfully. "I worry that I've gotten you in trouble, though. What will they do to punish you?"

"Forbid me from leaving my room, most likely," says Samantha with a supremely unconcerned shrug. "Not that I mind. I would rather be up there reading my books than downstairs listening to Mother lecture me on deportment any day." Mulder grins.

"You can borrow as many of my books as you like, all right?" he offers. "I get the feeling that you're banished to your room an awful lot these days." She grins.

"What can I say?" she asks. "I seem to have developed the bad habit of speaking my mind whenever possible, no matter the consequences."

"I can't imagine where you could have picked _that_ up," Mulder says. He leads the horse out of the stable, and together, he and Samantha walk down to the street. As they come to a stop on the curb, Mulder embraces his sister, lifting her off of the ground and squeezing her as though he'd like to never let go. "Take care of yourself, Samantha," he tells her, his voice hoarse, as he sets her carefully back down on the sidewalk. He bends down and kisses her cheek, standing and stepping back reluctantly.

"You too, all right?" Sam says, still holding his hand, unwilling to relinquish it just yet. "Keep yourself safe, as safe as you can. And listen to your Lieutenant Scully. He seems like he knows how to keep you out of trouble." Mulder grins.

"He's better at it than anyone I know... except maybe for you." Samantha smiles, her lower lip trembling. Mulder can tell that she's trying to hold herself together until he rides off, to make the departure easier on him. "Love you, baby sister," he says, ruffling her hair one last time.

"Love you too, big brother," she answers, stepping back as he mounts his horse. And with one final wave, he's gone.


	12. Chapter 12

AUGUST 1863  
WEST OF FREDERICKSBURG, VIRGINIA

 

As luck would have it, during the week that Mulder has spent in Fredericksburg, the Army of the Potomac has marched further south, stopping at the Rappahannock River. As a result, instead of the half-day's travel on horseback that it took him and Scully to get to Charles Spender's house at the start of the week, today, he will only need to travel for an hour or so. He has, of course, neglected to mention this to his parents; the idea of being forced to sit and listen to his father's strictures and his mother's pleading for any longer than absolutely necessary is enough to set his teeth on edge.

It's a warm morning, but not yet uncomfortable, and he meets almost no one else on the road. With the army so close, civilian travel is strongly discouraged; special papers are often required in order to pass from one town to another, and some soldiers are less cordial and gentlemanly than others when it comes to dealing with Virginian citizens.

Of course, it's not exactly safe for a soldier from either side to be riding alone, either, given the number of opportunistic thieves roving the countryside. And it's particularly dangerous for Union soldiers, at the moment, with Mosby's Raiders leaving the rebel army to go marauding north of Lee's encampment. Mulder hopes, not for the first time, that Scully had managed to make it back to the regiment without any trouble.

Near the end of his ride, about twenty miles away from Fredericksburg, Mulder passes through a picket line, marking the outer boundaries of the Union army's encampment. He's let through with relatively little hassle- the men are from his own brigade and recognize him immediately- and passes through three brigades before he manages to locate his own. 

Further along, just out of sight of the picket lines, there's a group of men whiling away the morning by playing a game of four-to-a-side baseball, their jackets lying abandoned in a heap behind their makeshift home plate. Mulder stops to watch for a moment. The players are making do with a pitcher and three basemen; the men waiting to bat for the other team are taking it in turns to retrieve the pitches that the batter misses. Mulder wonders, for a moment, whether being a colonel means that he's supposed to be "above" joining in the games with his men. He resolves then and there to not give a damn if it's considered proper or not; he loves baseball, and during the long months of winter encampment they'll endure starting in December of January, it will be a welcome diversion- not to mention a way to keep warm.

He wonders whether Scully has ever played baseball before. There's a decent chance that she has, if she's grown up with two brothers and is as much of a tomboy as she's said that she was. And if she's never played... well, he'll just have to teach her.

Another few minutes' ride brings Mulder into the encampment itself. He stops to ask the colonel of each regiment where the Third Brigade is currently encamped, and before too long, he spies the red Maltese Cross of his brigade fluttering in the breeze above headquarters. Mulder decides to stop for a moment and see Colonel Skinner, before he continues on to his own regiment. He tells himself, firmly, that he's only doing it to make sure that his superior knows that he's returned, and to see if there is anything that he needs to know about, any upcoming orders that he'll need to get his men ready to carry out.

It's not because he's putting off seeing Scully again. Of _course_ it's not.

Colonel Skinner is sitting under an awning in front of his tent, bent over a table with several members of his staff. He looks up as Mulder arrives and dismounts, then stands to return Mulder's salute.

"Welcome back, Colonel Mulder," he says. "Is your family well?"

"They are, Sir," says Mulder. "I appreciate being given the time away to see them. Thank you for that." Skinner waves this off.

"It wasn't a problem at all. It's certainly not as though anything is going on around here, at the moment."

"Before I return to my regiment, Sir, might I ask how things are standing right now? Will we be moving out anytime soon, do you think?"

"Doesn't seem very likely," says Skinner, sitting back down in his chair. He gestures away south, in the direction of the Rappahannock River, lying out of sight some two or three miles away. "General Lee's got his entire army on the southern bank of the Rappahannock, and we're sitting over here on the other side... and it doesn't look as though anyone has any plans to do anything. For the moment, we're just waiting, running drills daily to keep the men occupied, and having our sharpshooters take it in turns to keep watch along the riverbank, especially at night." He turns back to Mulder. "And speaking of sharpshooters, where's your Lieutenant Scully? We'll need him to take his turn on the watch, if you can spare him for a bit. Didn't he go to Fredericksburg with you?"

"He did, but he left much earlier than I did," says Mulder, alarmed. "You haven't seen him back here yet?"

"No," says Skinner, "but I've been close to my tent all morning. For all I know, he's waiting for you with the rest of your men." Mulder nods.

"If that's all, Sir, I'll be getting back to my regiment," he says, and Skinner returns his salute and waves him away. Mulder salutes, climbs back up on his horse, and continues on until at last, he spies the regimental colors of the Eighty-Third Pennsylvania.

The men who are gathered in his regiment's camp send up a loud cheer as he rides through, which he acknowledges, with not a small amount of discomfort. He doesn't feel quite right accepting praise from the entire regiment, not just yet, not before he's led them into battle and has proven himself to be capable of having command of so many men. But still, he waves back as the men salute him and call out to him, all the while keeping a sharp eye out for Scully's distinctive red hair.

By the time that he's reached the tent that his men have pitched for him, however, Scully is still nowhere to be found, and Mulder is becoming genuinely concerned. Scully had said that she was returning directly to the regiment, he recalls, but it's not outside the realm of possibility that she had changed her mind and had decided to spend the week elsewhere, instead. But where would she go? The roads aren't safe for anyone riding alone, not with bands of robbers and brigands waiting to attack the unaware.

His stomach gives a sudden, awful lurch when it occurs to him that, in the course of a highway robbery, Scully's attackers could discover, all too easily, the secret that she's managed to keep hidden from the entire Union army. And if that were to happen, the danger would not just be to whatever meager valuables and money she might have stashed away in her haversack. He resolves that, if Scully hasn't shown up within the hour, he will send runners to the other regiments to find out if anyone has seen her. Her hair, thankfully, makes her easy for people to remember.

And if she hasn't shown up by nightfall, Mulder will ride out in search of her himself.

Mulder dismounts and hands his horse off to be wiped down and fed. He ducks into his tent and discovers, much to his surprise, that a cot has been placed inside. He thinks that he remembers seeing one in Skinner's tent, when he had been colonel of the regiment, so maybe it had just taken some time for one to be located for him. Whatever the reason, he's glad of its presence now, and throwing his haversack to the ground, he sinks down onto the cot with a groan. It's a far cry from his accommodations of the past week, but it's a solid step above sleeping on the ground, so he'll take it.

The tent flap is suddenly thrown back, and Mulder sits upright with a start. Scully is standing just outside, peering in, squinting in the lower light. Mulder's gut unclenches at the sight of her, and his relief is strong enough to leave him light-headed.

"Permission to enter, Sir?" Scully asks stiffly, and inwardly, Mulder grimaces at the formality.

"Of course you can come in, Scully," he says. "It's your tent, too."

"Not officially," she says, but all the same, she steps inside, allowing the flap of canvas to fall closed behind her. She raises her eyebrows at the cot, and Mulder ducks his head sheepishly.

"I didn't request this, I promise," he says. "It was all set up when I got here a few minutes ago. I'll have a word with Colonel Skinner and see if I can get you one, as well."

"No, don't," Scully says. "That would likely raise a few eyebrows. Lieutenants don't usually sleep on cots, do they?"

"I don't think so," admits Mulder. "Well, you can take this one, then. I don't mind sleeping on the ground."

"It's your cot, Mulder. You're the senior officer. Why would you give it to me?"

"Because I'm a gentleman, and it's the polite thing to do," Mulder says. "Isn't it?" Scully narrows her eyes at him.

"Not when the person you're offering the better sleeping arrangement to is your subordinate," she says. She lowers her voice. "This is the sort of thing I was talking about, when I said you might treat me differently."

"But still," Mulder protests, "I don't feel right about it. At the very least, we should trade off nights." Scully sighs.

"If I agree, will you promise to shut up about the damn cot?" she asks, rolling her eyes. "I've been back at camp for all of five minutes, and already you're making me wish that I'd just deserted, instead." Mulder's heart sinks... but then he sees the glint of mischief in Scully's eyes. He grins at her, relieved.

"Fine, we trade off nights," he agrees. Scully nods and drops her gear next to Mulder's, then sits down beside him on the cot. "Where'd you go, Scully?" Mulder asks her. "You told me that you were returning to the regiment, but Colonel Skinner says he never saw you come back." Scully ducks her head.

"I didn't," she admits. "I started riding back the way we'd come, but...." She sighs. "I needed some time to cool down, after I left Fredericksburg, and I wasn't ready to come back and face the regiment, and have to come up with some phony explanation about why I wasn't still with you and your family." She glances up at him. "What did _you_ tell them, by the way?"

"I said that we had a rider in the night, with a message calling you away," Mulder says. "I left it at that. Samantha was disappointed when you were gone at breakfast, I'll tell you that much."

"I'm sorry that I didn't get to spend more time with her," Scully says. "I feel like she and I were getting along really well." She twists her fingers awkwardly in her lap. "Mulder, I feel like I owe you an apology," she says. "Those were some terrible accusations that I was throwing around, and I shouldn't have said anything unless I knew for sure what was going on." 

Mulder opens his mouth to tell her about what had happened, that last night... and stops. He's suddenly reluctant to share what happened between him and Diana last night, and it's only in part- a small part- because he doesn't like admitting that he might have been wrong. 

While it's true that Mulder doesn't want to prejudice Scully against Diana more than she already is, if it turns out that the conversation in the alleyway- as well as last night's events- were innocent, it just feels... wrong, somehow, to tell Scully what had nearly happened in his bedroom last night. And it's not just because Scully is a woman; after all, hadn't they touched on the subject of intimacy briefly, right after their arrival in Fredericksburg? One way or another, Diana's advances are not something he wants to share with her, just now. He goes with a different tack, instead.

"I owe you an apology as well, Scully," he tells her. "You were right about one thing: Diana could have been a good deal more welcoming than she was, and I should have stepped up and said something to her about it."

"It could have made your visit less pleasant," Scully counters. "She didn't have any warning that I would be there, after all."

"Well, my visit was less pleasant anyway, because you weren't there," Mulder says, and Scully ducks her head, blushing. "And maybe if I had just taken the time to explain her a little bit better, you wouldn't have been so upset by the way she acted. Diana's... she's used to getting what she wants, used to having things done the way she wants them to be. I'm not saying that it's an excuse, but she's always been easily upset when plans change at the last second. I should have written ahead that you were coming with me, and I'm sorry that I didn't." He reaches out, tentatively, and covers her hand on the cot with his own. "Do you think that you can find it in your heart to forgive me?" She smiles at him, still blushing. He's charmed by the way that her freckles stand out against the pink of her cheeks.

"If you can forgive me for jumping to such offensive conclusions about your fiancee," she says.

"Scully, there's nothing to forgive," he tells her, and he means it. "You were only looking out for me, the way that you're supposed to do- as my lieutenant, and as my friend." They sit in silence a moment longer, and Mulder discovers that he doesn't want to take his hand away from Scully's. She doesn't seem in any great hurry to move, either, and so they sit quietly on the cot, not holding hands, exactly, but enjoying the connection.

"So... you never told me where you went, when you left Fredericksburg," Mulder reminds her.

"Nowhere special, really," says Scully. "For maybe half an hour, right after leaving, the idea honestly did cross my mind to just ride north, to go home and give this up, whatever happens." Mulder turns to face her fully, alarmed, and she twists her hand upwards so that they're properly holding hands, and gives his fingers a reassuring squeeze. "I decided against that pretty quickly, though. Aside from not being ready to face my mother just yet, I knew that if I left the regiment, there would be a decent chance that you and I might never see each other again."

"Not to mention, the lovely Dr. Waterston would be waiting to force a ring on your finger and drag you straight to the chapel," Mulder points out. Scully, however, looks skeptical.

"In all honesty, Mulder, I'm not sure that Daniel would still be interested in marrying me, if he found out where I've been for the past six or seven months," she confesses. "He would be absolutely scandalized by my spending all of this time in the company of men. I'm sure that he would believe my virtue to be absolutely beyond retrieval." She grins. "And that's not even getting into all of the excellent swear words I've picked up, sitting around the cooking fires." Mulder laughs.

"So you think that you'll be free of him, then?" he asks. "When you do eventually go home?" She nods.

"I think so, yes," she says. "Although, as I'm sure my mother will be quick to point out, there likely won't be a single man in all of West Chester- or in all of Philadelphia, no doubt- that will be interested in marrying a woman who has just finished spending God knows how many years in the constant company of soldiers."

"Then every last man in West Chester and in Philadelphia is a fool, and not a single one of them is worthy of you," says Mulder, before he can stop himself.

If Scully had been blushing before, it's nothing compared to the shade of red that she's turning now. She looks up and meets his gaze, her blue eyes shining, and the slow, sweet smile that plays across her lips transforms her entire face into something truly lovely... and for the first time, Mulder becomes fully aware of one very important fact.

Dana Scully is _beautiful._

Reluctantly, Mulder forces himself to let go of her hand, and he stands, putting some space between them before he does something that will either get him slapped or make their situation complicated beyond all comprehension. Scully, he would like to believe, looks slightly disappointed, but she hides it quickly.

"Thank you, Mulder," she says. "Your opinion means a great deal to me." He chuckles.

"It shouldn't," he says ruefully. "Not when I'm allowing my family to believe that I'll marry someone who's treated my best friend so shamefully." Scully frowns.

"Why wouldn't your family believe that, if you and Diana are engaged?" she asks, confused.

"Because we're not, not officially," Mulder says, even as he's mentally kicking himself for telling her this. He and Scully, he's beginning to realize, are going to need a great deal of self-control to make it through the war without doing something that truly _would_ be cause for scandal, and allowing her to think that he's engaged would probably have been the wiser choice. He knows her well enough to be fairly certain that she would never allow anything improper to happen between herself and another woman's prospective husband. But he's already gone this far, so he might as well explain.

"It's more or less assumed that one day, Diana and I will marry," he says. "We've always been close friends, from the time that she came to live with Charles Spender... and I guess that to my parents- to most people, probably- if an unmarried boy and an unmarried girl are that close, it's because they plan to wed, eventually, when they're old enough. My parents and Charles Spender love the idea; it would mean the consolidation of both of their families' fortunes. And Diana...." He shrugs. "Well, I'm pretty sure that she was hoping I would have proposed by the time I left Fredericksburg today."

"But you didn't?" Scully asks, and he shakes his head.

"To be perfectly frank...." _Don't_ , he tells himself, _she doesn't need to know_ , but his rational mind seems to have taken a leave of absence, and he ploughs ahead recklessly. "In all honesty, Scully, I'm beginning to have second thoughts."

"You are?" asks Scully, in a tone somewhat more cheerful than what could be called appropriate for this sort of admission. She seems to realize this immediately, and adopts a more sober countenance. "Not just because of how she treated me, I hope. You were right that it was unfair of me to expect her to be completely welcoming without having any notice that I would be coming along with you."

"No, not because of that, necessarily," Mulder replies, "though it's related to that, a little bit." He bites his lip, thinking. "Scully, you know that sometimes, I tend to be... impulsive, wouldn't you say?" Scully laughs.

"Sometimes, Mulder?" She chuckles, shaking her head. "I'd say that's a bit of an understatement, wouldn't you?" He grins sheepishly.

"All right, most of the time," he concedes. "I don't mind when the plan gets shot to hell at the last second, and I honestly enjoy improvising, doing things spur of the moment. And I just got to thinking, this week... what would it be like, for someone who dislikes surprises and always prefers to know, ahead of time, exactly how everything is going to be, to end up married to someone as impulsive as I am?" Scully seems to be thinking this over.

"It doesn't seem like the perfect recipe for domestic bliss," she says. "But do you really think that Diana hasn't had these same doubts? If she's known you for this long, your penchant for doing things spur of the moment can't have escaped her notice."

"No, it hasn't," says Mulder. "But I think that Diana might be operating under the age-old assumption that marriage is going to change me, make me more level-headed and less attracted to excitement." Scully looks at him skeptically.

"So you're saying that she's in love with the man she wants you to become, as opposed to the man that you actually are?"

"Well, to be honest, she's never told me that she loves me," Mulder admits. "So maybe she's not worried about love, one way or the other."

"I can't imagine marrying someone that I didn't love," says Scully. "I mean... I know that it's relatively common, I know that plenty of marriages are arranged, or are a matter of convenience, but... I just can't fathom placing all of my chances for my future happiness on the hope that being married will change traits that are essential to who my husband truly is." With a sigh, she stands. "Listen," she says, picking up her things again. "I'm supposed to be down by the riverbank in about a half hour, all right?" Mulder frowns.

"What for?" he asks.

"I'm in the rotation for guard duty," Scully explains. "The colonel of the Forty-Fourth New York made the rounds at the beginning of the week, I'm told, and said that all sharpshooters are required to take a turn on the picket lines."

"How long?" Mulder asks.

"I should be relieved and back back by supper, I think," Scully answers, and Mulder nods.

"Be careful, all right?" he advises her. "Stay awake. No distractions." Scully rolls her eyes.

"Of course, because _I'm_ the one who needs to be told things like that," she says. "Do you think that you can manage to keep yourself out of trouble for the rest of the afternoon while I'm gone?" Mulder scowls at her, but underneath, he's fighting off a smile. His fear that he and Scully might have lost this over Diana, this easy rapport between them, has been consuming him since the night she had ridden off in anger, and discovering that they're going to be all right is a relief beyond comparison.

"Listen, I was doing just fine all on my own before you showed up in this regiment to torment me," he tells her, and she grins.

"You just keep on telling yourself that, Mulder. I'll see you at supper tonight, all right?" And with a final wave, she ducks back out of the tent and is gone. Mulder returns to his new cot and flops back down onto the stretched, waxed canvas with a groan.

Just what is he getting himself into?


	13. Chapter 13

SEPTEMBER 1863  
NEAR FREDERICKSBURG, VIRGINIA

 

The nights and the mornings begin to grow cool as the year passes from August into September, though the afternoons remain fairly warm. There's a structure to their days, as they wait for the commanders from either side to make a move, and the predictability of the schedule helps the time to move along much more quickly than it would were they left to do nothing but sit around from dawn until dusk.

Mornings begin with as much of the soldiers' breakfasts as they're able to stomach, which varies from day to day, depending on how old the bacon is, and how many weevils can be found in the bread. At the cooking fire one morning, Private Jorgensen shares a trick with Scully and Mulder that he's learned during picket line duty with men from another regiment. He drops his square of hardtack into his cup of coffee and allows it to soak until it breaks into pieces, which he then retrieves, scalding his fingers slightly in the process. The weevils fall out of the broken pieces of bread, which has softened enough by that point to be easily chewed. Then he skims the weevils off of the surface of the coffee and drinks it.

The first time Mulder watches Jorgensen demonstrate this process, he balks, though Scully copies him without hesitation. After a solid week of insect-infested bread, however, he cracks and tries it. He's relieved to discover that Jorgensen and Scully are right: the weevils leave no other flavor behind in the coffee, or if they do, the potent, bitter brew is more than strong enough to conceal it.

"I think that this is payback," comments Jorgensen, fishing a broken piece of hardtack out of his coffee.

"For what?" asks Scully.

"For every time I ever complained about my wife's cooking," Jorgensen replies. "It wouldn't surprise me if we found out she was paying someone to make sure the bread with the most bugs was sent my way." Mulder and Scully laugh.

"So this is all _your_ fault, then," says Mulder. "I should assign you to do the cooking for the entire regiment for the rest of the war. Maybe then you'll return home to your wife with a renewed appreciation of what goes into preparing a meal."

Out in the field, beyond the edge of the encampment, men from a different regiment are choosing up sides for a game of baseball. Mulder watches them longingly. Jorgensen eyes him, grinning.

"Ought to get a game of our own going," he comments. 

"We'll be drilling soon," Mulder counters. 

"After, then?" asks Jorgensen. "Or are colonels too high and mighty to play in the dirt with the rest of us low-lifes?" Mulder laughs in spite of himself.

"I would pound you into the dust, Jorgensen," he says. 

"I'll believe that when I see it," Jorgensen retorts. "Do they teach baseball at Harvard, Professor?"

"That's Colonel Professor to you, Private," Mulder says mildly. Jorgensen chuckles and turns to Scully.

"What about you?" he asks. Scully shrugs.

"I've never played baseball," she says, and Jorgensen's mouth drops open.

"Never? Not even when you was a kid?" he asks. Scully shakes her head. "What'd you do when you finished your chores, then?" 

"Read books, mostly," says Scully with a shrug. Jorgensen looks positively scandalized.

"What the hell kind of childhood did you have?" he asks.

"The kind that ended with me being the best-educated person in the history of my family," Scully retorts, glaring. Jorgensen is not impressed by this. Downing the rest of his coffee, he climbs to his feet, shaking his head in disgust as he walks away. Mulder turns to Scully.

"You've never played baseball?" he asks. "Really?" She glares at him, then glances around to make sure that they're completely alone.

"Were there a lot of girls who played baseball in Culpeper or in Fredericksburg, Mulder?" she asks, in a voice that's barely above a whisper.

"No, there weren't," he admits, keeping his voice low as well. "But you're not exactly like the girls I grew up with, Scully." She narrows her eyes at him. "I mean that as a compliment, I promise." She continues to look skeptical a moment longer, before sighing and drinking deeply from her cup of coffee.

"I would have liked to have played," she says. "I tried to, once, but my brother Bill wouldn't let me join in with him and his friends, even though my brother Charlie was all for letting me. I went to my mother to try and get her to intercede, but she, of course, took Bill's side."

"And your father?" asks Mulder.

"He was away at sea," Scully says. "Which was true for a good deal of my childhood." They sit in silence for a time, finishing their breakfast and watching the early risers across the field beginning their game. An idea begins to form in Mulder's mind, taking shape slowly, and a smile slowly spreads over his face.

"How would you like to learn how to play, Scully?" Mulder asks, hoping his voice doesn't betray his excitement. Scully cocks an eyebrow at him.

"You're going to teach me how to play baseball?" she asks.

"Well, some of it," Mulder says. "I've seen you throw rocks, so I know I don't need to teach you how to throw. And I've seen you catch your daily ration of hardtack when the quartermaster is being lazy and tossing it at the men instead of making the soldiers line up to receive it, so I know that's not a problem. So really... the only thing that leaves is the right way to swing a bat." Scully frowns.

"I wasn't aware that there was an incorrect way to swing a stick of wood," she says, and Mulder feigns offense.

"Scully, you have no _idea_ what goes into it," he tells her. "There's proper form, proper timing, follow-through... it's a hell of a lot more than just 'swinging a stick of wood,' as you so condescendingly put it."

"So you want to teach me how to swing a bat, then?" she asks. 

"That's right," says Mulder. Scully mulls this over for a moment as she rinses her empty coffee cup with water from her canteen.

"All right," she agrees, "but I can't right now. I'm posted down on the riverbank until supper tonight."

"That's fine," Mulder says. "Better for us to wait until after it's dark outside, anyway." Scully frowns at him, confused. "You'll understand when I show you, I promise."

The day, for Mulder, seems interminable, now that his plans for the evening have been made. He feels a tiny twinge of guilt over what he's plotting, but he tells himself that really, it's perfectly innocent. He'll be teaching Scully how to swing a baseball bat the same way a father might teach his son.

Well... maybe it won't be _exactly_ the same.

The regiment drills, takes a break in the heat of mid-day (though it's not as oppressively hot as it's been; autumn is definitely on its way), and then drill again in the afternoon. Just after Mulder gives the order for the regiment to fall in, as the sun is dipping below the horizon, he sees the daytime pickets making their way back into the regiment's camp, Scully among them. As she's digging out the remainder of her day's rations, preparing to cook her bacon over one of the fires, Mulder goes in search a soldier from what had, until two months ago, been his company, who is finishing his meal by a different fire.

"Private Pendrell," he says, and the slight young man leaps to his feet, saluting so enthusiastically that he knocks his uniform cap right off of his head.

"Yes, Sir, Colonel! Sir!" he barks, and Mulder smiles. Pendrell, who cannot possibly be older than eighteen at the absolute most, was always a good friend of Scully's, before she and Mulder had both received their promotions. He knows that Scully still makes a point to share meals with him, when she can. 

"At ease, Private," Mulder says, but Pendrell remains stiff as a board. "I was wondering... do you think I could borrow your baseball bat?" Pendrell is disproportionately excited to be of service.

"Of course, Sir!" he says. "It's in my tent, I'll go and get it right now." He whirls on his heel and takes off, dashing through the rows of tents as though the fate of the Union depends on how quickly he can retrieve a baseball bat for his colonel. The other men sitting around the fire chuckle in amusement, shaking their heads.

Scant minutes later, Pendrell reappears, out of breath and clutching a roughly-hewn wooden bat, which he places in Mulder's hands before stepping back and standing at attention. Mulder examines the bat closely. It's carved from raw rood, unfinished, with no varnish, the handle darkened from contact with many sweaty palms.

"Did you bring this from home, Private?" Mulder asks.

"No, Sir," says Pendrell, shaking his head. "I carved it out of a fallen tree back in June." He looks sheepish. "It's not perfectly round, Sir. I haven't got the tools with me to get it nice and smooth. I'm sorry for that."

"Don't be sorry, Pendrell," Mulder reassures him. "I'll bring it back before lights out tonight. That all right with you?"

"Of course, Sir!" says Pendrell. "Keep it as long as you like!" 

Carrying the homemade bat, Mulder returns to where he had last seen Scully and finds her just finishing up her evening meal. With a jerk of his head, Mulder indicates that she should get up and follow him, which she does, jogging to catch up.

"Where'd you get that?" she asks Mulder, tilting her chin at the bat.

"Borrowed it from Private Pendrell," he says. "I'm gonna teach you how to play baseball, Scully." She grins and walks on eagerly by his side, into the gathering darkness of the evening.

"Shouldn't you have a ball, too, then?" she asks. "I was led to understand that the ball is sort of a central part of the game."

"We'd just lose it in the dark," Mulder says. "We're only going to work on your batting form for now." Scully nods, and they continue on, until they're under the eaves of the trees that border the field in which the regiment is encamped. Glancing back towards the flickering campfires, Mulder gauges the distance between them and the rest of the men and decides that, in the near-total darkness out here away from the fires, nobody will be able to see them. He turns to Scully and smiles.

"Get over here, Scully," he says, surprising himself with how husky his voice suddenly is. Scully looks a bit apprehensive, but she obeys, stopping when she's so close that Mulder can see the moonlight glinting in her eyes. He takes her by the shoulders and turns her so that they're facing the same direction; then, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he steps closer, puts one arm on either side of her, and holds the bat in front of her. 

If Scully finds his proximity to be too forward, she doesn't say anything; instead, she reaches out and takes the bat, carefully positioning her hands in between his. "Now, don't strangle it," he tells her. "You just want to shake hands with it. 'Hello, Mr. Bat. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.' 'Oh, no, no, Lieutenant Scully. The pleasure's all mine.'" Scully lets out a giggle- probably the first giggle that Mulder has ever heard from her- and he feels his stomach drop to somewhere around the vicinity of his knees. 

"If anyone were to see us right now, it would raise some eyebrows," she chuckles.

"Why do you think I took you all the way out here?" Mulder asks. He draws the bat back, so that it's over her shoulder, and her hands follow along. He lets go, briefly, to raise her right elbow a tiny bit higher, then returns his hands to bracket hers on the bat. "Now, we want to... we want to go hips before hands, all right?" Scully nods. "We want to stride forward and turn. That's all we're thinking about. So, we go hips... before hands, all right?

"All right," she agrees. He drops his left hand, cautiously, until his fingers are just barely grazing her hip through her uniform. Pressing gently against her from behind, expecting her to turn and sock him in the jaw at any second, he turns his hips into the hit, taking hers along for the ride, and brings the bat forward in a slow-motion swing.

"Good, just like that," Mulder says approvingly. "Again, all right? Hips before hands." His hand on her hip is firmer this time, and the space between their bodies- already minimal- becomes nonexistent. This close, he's aware of how rapid Scully's breathing is, and he suspects that if the world were not washed colorless in the moonlight, her cheeks would be flushed red. Still, she doesn't pull away.

In fact, she presses closer to him.

"Again," she says, and the husky tone of her voice fully ignites something inside of him that, until now, had only smoldered. His fingers tighten on her hip, and he hooks his chin over her shoulder, bringing his mouth down to the very edge of her ear.

"Right," he says, and he's amazed that he's retained the power of speech. "We're going to wait on the pitch. We're going to keep our eye on the ball. Then, we're just going to make contact. We're not going to think. We're just going to let it fly, Scully, okay?" She shivers as his breath dances over the shell of her ear.

"Mmm-hmm." Mulder looks out to their left, imagining the pitcher winding up, getting ready to throw. 

"Ready?" he asks, and Scully nods. They step into the swing together, rotating their hips in perfect concert without breaking contact, swinging the bat and turning into the imaginary pitch. Mulder can almost hear the _crack_ of the ball on the bat in his mind. He and Scully hold the position a moment longer... and then Scully lets go of the bat and turns to face him. His left hand skates along the curve of her waist until it comes to rest at her right hip, and too late, he realizes that there's no longer even a pretense of an appropriate reason for him to be touching her. 

And yet... he can't seem to let go.

Scully looks up at him, biting her lip adorably, and Mulder acts without thinking. The hand on her hip slides around to her back and he pulls her to him, bending his head and pressing his mouth to hers. She inhales sharply, surprised, but she doesn't pull away. There's a muffled _thunk_ as the bat drops to the ground, and Scully's arms are around his neck, and she's leaning into him, giving back as good as she's getting as they kiss.

It's overwhelming, the passion that suddenly courses through him. Mulder had certainly never thought of himself as an expert in the art of kissing, but until this moment, he had not realized that it was possible for one woman's kiss to be so much more intense than another's. Never, never in his life, has he felt anything even close to this.

Scully pulls back suddenly, eyes wide in the moonlight, realization of what they've just done dawning on her face.

"Mulder, we can't," she says, as she works at getting her breathing back under control. "You're my commander. And you... you're already promised to someone. You're _engaged_ , Mulder."

"It's only a presumed engagement," he protests weakly. "Nothing is official. I haven't asked her to marry me... hell, Scully, I haven't even asked her father for his permission."

"But still," Scully insists, "you're courting someone. And even if you weren't... Mulder, is _this_ the time or place for any of this?" She gestures back across the field, to the legions of soldiers settling into their tents for the night. "Neither of us can afford a distraction like this- especially not you. You have an entire regiment looking to you to lead them, and you can't spend your time thinking about me."

"It's too late for that, Scully," Mulder says. "I already do." She closes her eyes against his confession.

"Mulder, I'm the only woman within twenty miles of you right now," she says. "And that's not likely to change, as long as the war continues. How do you know you're not feeling this way- or _convincing_ yourself that you feel this way- just because there aren't any other options readily available?"

"That's not why," he says. "You could put me in a city peopled entirely by women, Scully, and I would _still_ feel this way." Scully drops her face into her hands.

"I can't... I can't listen to this right now," she says. "Mulder, please, think about what you're saying. We're in the middle of a war, I am trying _desperately_ not to draw attention to myself to avoid being forced to return to a life I don't want, and you have someone else who loves you and is waiting for you to come home again." She shakes her head sadly. "It could be an absolute disaster, Mulder," she says. "It could destroy both of our lives." She turns and begins to walk away.

"Where are you going?" Mulder asks, disliking the trembling in his voice.

"Back to camp," says Scully, not turning around. "To sleep. I've been on guard duty all day and I'm exhausted." She strides off across the field, her head hanging down, without waiting for him to answer.

Mulder swears under his breath. "So stupid," he tells himself angrily. "So _incredibly_ stupid. Well done, Mulder, you may have just ruined the best thing in your sorry excuse for a life." He bends down and picks up Private Pendrell's bat, resisting the urge to swing it angrily at the closest tree. Instead, he trudges back towards camp, following Scully's path, hating himself a little more with every step.

He finds Pendrell's tent and ducks his head inside just long enough to see that all four occupants, Pendrell included, are already asleep. He places the bat just inside and allows the flap to fall back. He makes his way through the lines of tents, stopping occasionally to return a salute or to speak with one of his captains, doing everything he can to put off the moment of returning to his tent, terrified that Scully will not be there, that she'll have staked a claim in some other tent, amongst soldiers who _hadn't_ just done their best to make her extremely uncomfortable.

At last, he can delay no longer, and, feet dragging, he makes his way slowly to his own tent, the regimental colors staked in the ground outside, flapping lazily in the soft night breeze. He takes a deep breath... and enters to find Scully lying curled up on the ground. Mulder sighs in relief. Scully stirs slightly, but does not look up. He resists the urge to insist that she get up and take the cot- it's his turn to have it tonight, but he would readily surrender it to her- because he knows, intuitively, that such a gesture would not be well-received tonight, after the scene in the woods. Instead, he contents himself with the knowledge that she is at least amenable to the idea of trying to maintain the status quo, to keep things as they were before he had been so impetuous and presumptive.

Mulder strips off his jacket, vest, and shirt, and stretches out on the cot, lying on his back and listening to the flags fluttering outside the tent. Scully's breathing is light, and he's relatively certain she's not asleep yet, but she doesn't say anything, and Mulder is too nervous to speak. Even if he wasn't, he has no idea what he could possibly say.

He's convinced he'll never get to sleep, but he regulates his breathing, times it with hers, and eventually, his eyelids begin to grow heavy. He rolls onto his side, ready to drop off, and his arm flops over the side of the cot, his hand landing on the grassy ground, next to Scully's sleeping roll.

Mulder is just beginning to doze off when he feels small, warm fingers creeping across his. Scully takes his hand in her own, squeezing reassuringly. A tremendous weight is lifted off of Mulder's chest, and he squeezes back, smiling. Scully's head is tucked into her arm, and he can't see her face, but somehow, he knows she's smiling, as well.

He finally falls asleep knowing that, one way or another, they're going to be all right.


	14. Chapter 14

OCTOBER 1863  
NEAR BRISTOE STATION, VIRGINIA

 

Autumn announces its arrival at the end of September with a bitter bite in the air, and by early October, the men keep close to the campfires whenever they're off duty. The nights grow colder, bit by bit, and men begin to actually use the woolen blankets folded within their sleeping rolls, instead of bunching them up and stuffing them under their heads as pillows. A lucky few have brought quilts from home, or have asked family to send them, and the same men who spent the summer ridiculing them for having something extra to carry now eye their warmer comrades with envy each night.

Days are still spent drilling, regardless of the weather, and when the cold and the rain strike simultaneously, the regiment's misery is complete. Mulder fights the urge, on the wettest of days, to simply call it all off, to allow his men to spend the day in the relative shelter of their tents instead. Thinking back to the days that Skinner had forced them all to drill relentlessly, no matter what the weather, he keeps doggedly on, remembering how much better they functioned as a unit when every last man could load, aim, and fire his gun quickly and efficiently, no matter what the conditions.

On the brighter side, practicing keeping their companies in perfect formation, while dashing back and forth across the fields at double-quick time, with arms shouldered, over and over and over again, keeps everyone relatively warm, at least for the duration of the drill.

On drier days, the time between meals and drills is often devoted to card games, particularly poker and, more and more often as the weather begins to cool, baseball. The various regiments begin to organize more formal teams to compete against one another, and it comes as a surprise to no one, least of all to Mulder, when Scully turns out to be adept in all aspects of the game. It takes some cajoling on her part, but eventually, the men of the Eighty-Third Pennsylvania are convinced to permit their colonel to join their team. When he grumbles about requiring intercession from his lieutenant, she reminds him, teasingly, that rich college boys aren't necessarily known for their aptitude for athletics.

"Neither, I should point out, are women," he grumbles sulkily at her, as they're bedding down for the night. "And yet, they let _you_ play."

"Well," she replies, smiling cheerfully up at him, "I was lucky enough to have had an excellent teacher, wasn't I?" She burrows down into her blanket- it's his night for the cot again- and pulls it up over her head until all that he can see is her eyes. The night is probably the coldest they've had so far, and even from a foot away, Mulder can see her shivering. He's not feeling so warm, himself.

"Scully," he says, before he has the chance to get too nervous, "why don't you come up here?" She glares at him through the tiny gap in her blanket.

"The cot's yours tonight, Mulder," she reminds him.

"I know that," he says. "I wasn't suggesting I sleep on the ground; I was suggesting that you come squeeze up here with me." Scully draws the blanket just far enough away from her face so that he can see her dubious expression. "Not for any nefarious purposes, I promise," he reassures her. "I'll keep my hands to myself and everything. I just think we would probably be warmer that way, don't you?" She says nothing. He hasn't attempted any repeat of their kiss in the woods, several weeks ago, and the awkwardness had faded quickly... but still, what he's suggesting would probably have given her pause even before the incident in the woods.

"You're sure that's a smart idea?" she asks, drawing her blanket the rest of the way off of her face.

"The men do it all the time in the other tents, when it gets cold," Mulder counters. "They sleep in dogpiles in the middle, to conserve warmth. Don't they?" Scully nods. "That's all I'm suggesting." Scully hesitates a moment longer; then, as a stiff wind rustles the canvas walls of the tent, she acquiesces, climbing slowly to her feet.

"Somehow," she mutters, "I don't think that this is _quite_ the same thing." Mulder moves as far over as he can- the cot is extremely narrow- and Scully fits herself along his side, . They double up on the blankets and lie down, facing carefully away from one another. They're decidedly warmer, but both of their knees are hanging over the cot's wooden edges, and it's not exactly comfortable.

"Hang on," says Scully. "Let me try something." She rolls over carefully- there's barely enough space on the cot for one person, let alone two, even if one of them is very small- and settles against him, spoon-fashion, with the tip of her nose just grazing the space between his shoulder blades. "Is this all right?"

"Yeah," Mulder says, his voice hoarse. "Yeah, Scully, it's fine."

It's probably not the smartest thing they've ever done, but from then on, it's how they sleep: side by side in Mulder's narrow cot, pressed together, sharing one another's warmth.

The second week in October, on the eleventh, the order finally comes to break camp and move out the following morning. No one knows where they're going, or whether or not battle is on the horizon; regardless, at dawn on the twelfth, the men cheer at the chance to finally move on, to break the monotony that has consumed them since August. They take down the tents, throw them into the waiting wagons, and form their companies, energy thrumming through the ranks as they wait to begin marching. Mulder sits astride his horse at the head of the column, and before long, Scully rides up beside him.

"So," she says. "where are we heading?"

"North," Mulder answers. "That's all I know for now." Scully nods.

"Sounds good enough for me," she says. "Anything to get off the banks of this damn river and get a change of scenery. If I had to sit through one more nighttime picket duty, I might have deserted." Mulder chuckles.

"You wouldn't dare," he says. "You know I'd come looking for you. And no matter how far you went, I would find you." Scully smiles softly at him, going a bit red in the face. Mulder quickly remembers that the entire regiment is mustered behind them, and he swiftly turns to face front, as does she.

The army marches north, a long blue snake winding its way along the roads, for the better part of the day, and camps in a field that night, without bothering to pitch their tents. They're back on the move first thing in the morning on the thirteenth, passing through Bealton and Calverton, towns that Mulder knows well. His family's plantation is not far south of here; several hours of brisk riding would take him there. He's travelled these roads with his father many times before, shadowing him on his business excursions, and traveling to and from Washington with his parents.

Close to noon, as the road shifts to run parallel to a railway line, Colonel Skinner rides up and pulls his horse alongside Mulder's. Scully respectfully drops back to give them privacy.

"I'm told we're on our way to protect these rail lines," Skinner informs Mulder, gesturing towards the tracks on their right. "Some of General Stuart's cavalry skirmished with a regiment or two at the head of our corps, which means General Lee's not far away. If they can take out some of the rail lines between us and Washington, our supply lines will be disrupted and we won't be able to stay in enemy territory for long, not without risking starving our soldiers and running out of ammunition."

"Where was this, Sir?" Mulder asks. "Nokesville, or further north, towards Manassas?" Skinner looks at him closely.

"I always forget that this is your home country," he says. "No, not that far north. Catlett Station is where we're mustering now."

"That's not far at all," says Mulder. "We ought to be there in less than an hour."

"That's right," says Skinner. He glances behind them, at the neatly-formed companies marching in near-perfect lockstep. "You've been drilling them hard, I've heard. Keeping them in shape during the wait for action." Mulder nods.

"I thought I'd run the regiment much the way you did, Sir," he says. "The men were used to hard drilling daily when you were in charge, so it's not as though it was much of a change for them." 

"You'll be glad of it, if we see action today or tomorrow," Skinner says. "Soldiers don't stay sharp by lying around in fields, watching the clouds go by. Not every commander has been as vigilant as you have, and more than one regiment is going to have trouble after two months without so much as a skirmish."

"We won't be one of them, Sir," Mulder promises.

"I know you won't, Mulder. It's why I picked you for command." Skinner glances off to the right, where Scully rides with two other lieutenants, waiting for Mulder to call her back to his side. "How is Lieutenant Scully working out as your aide-de-camp?" he asks. "I'm told that you keep him close at all times."

"Not while he's on guard duty," Mulder says mildly. "But most of the time, yes, Lieutenant Scully stays close at hand. He's been invaluable, Sir. Thank you for recommending him for the position."

"You would have come to the same conclusion on your own, I'm sure," says Skinner. "I know that-" But he falls silent at the sound of gunfire close at hand. "That's less than a mile away," he says, and Mulder nods. Scully nudges her horse closer, until she's only a few feet behind Mulder and Skinner. Mulder glances back at her. The sudden sound of artillery fire makes the men jump, startled, and Mulder's horse stamps nervously, though Scully keeps her mount well in hand. Mulder orders his men to a halt.

"Doesn't sound far off," says Scully, peering down the dusty road before them. There's a good deal of space between their brigade and the one in front of them, enough so that Mulder can't make out what's waiting up ahead. Moments later, though, there's another smattering of gunfire, closer at hand, and it sounds, this time, as though it's coming from their right.

"Mulder, " says Skinner, "have your men take cover along the railway. The raised ground should provide at least a little protection." Mulder nods and relays this order through his lieutenants, who pass it on to the captains, and before long, the entire regiment is either flat against the side of the raised railroad tracks, or hastily digging in reinforcements just behind them. He and his other officers, Scully included, dismount their horses and hand them off to the regiment's grooms, who lead them away, into the woods. They'll be within reach if they're needed, but not within easy sight of the enemy's guns.

It's only a matter of minutes before the sounds of musket fire are joined by the eerie, high-pitched rebel yell, not far to the north of them. The brigade that had been just before them in line must be engaged, and the Confederates seem to be moving south along the railroad lines, looking for a spot to slip behind the Union lines and flank them. The railroad lines are critical to maintaining the Union stronghold on Virginia, and if they're taken, or blown up, the army will not be able to effectively supply itself. Mulder knows this without Skinner having to tell him, and he directs his lieutenants and captains to dig in and fight hard.

Other than the approaching sounds of battle, all is quiet. The entire regiment is silent and tense, save for the men who have broken out their spades to dig foxholes behind the main line. Struck by sudden inspiration as he surveys the woods just off to the left of the tracks, Mulder turns to Scully.

"Lieutenant Scully," he says, I want you to take a company and position them just inside the tree line, behind us," he says. "You're to hold them in reserve, and if the enemy gets past our front line, you're to lead them in a charge. Fire on the enemy if you can, but only if you have a clear line of sight, and keep your men in the trees." Scully frowns at him.

"This wouldn't be a ploy to keep me safe, Sir, would it?" she asks, keeping her voice low.

"No, Lieutenant, it's not," Mulder promises- and it's mostly the truth. Scully will be slightly safer under the cover of the trees, but should she be required to lead the men in a charge, that will change quickly. Scully does not question him, though, and she rushes over to their former company, speaking with the captain as Private Pendrell breaks ranks to come closer and listen in. Moments later, all seventy-three men (and Scully) make for the tree line, some twenty yards away, and quickly hide themselves behind the trees and in the bushes.

The tension mounts as the sounds of battle grow closer, and Mulder, who feels distinctly unbalanced without Scully's steadying presence by his side, grows ever more nervous. Colonel Skinner and his staff have decided to dig in alongside the Eighty-Third Pennsylvania, and Mulder chooses to take it as a compliment to the safety his men can provide, rather than assume Skinner doesn't trust him to see the regiment through a battle on his own.

"There they are!" comes the shout from down the line, and a wave of motion runs through the regiment as men make last-minute adjustments on their grips on their rifles, resting them on railroad ties and mounds of freshly dug earth, watching the tree line to the right of the tracks, waiting for their chance to fire. In the trees on the other side of the railroad tracks, the thick underbrush parts, and the first of the soldiers in grey begin to move out into the open. Mulder's men are ready for them, and fire immediately, sending the rebels back into the cover of the foliage- but only for a moment. Within seconds, the enemy's cries reach a fever pitch as they race out, en masse, charging across the open ground towards the railroad, their officers spurring them on.

It's a short distance from the woods to the tracks, and even under heavy fire from Mulder's men, the rebels cross the clearing frighteningly quickly. Mulder gives the order- reluctantly- for his men to get to their feet and charge to meet the enemy, and in moments, the fighting has devolved into hand-to-hand combat, with bayonets and knives felling as many men as bullets. Glancing over his shoulder, between shots, Mulder spies Scully peering over the edge of the underbrush, her red hair peeking out from under her cap and giving her away. He knows she's waiting for his command, and he's loath to give it, but the rebels are pushing them so hard and fast, he won't have the chance if he waits too long... and so, murmuring a fervent wish for Scully's safety, he draws his saber, turns just enough to catch Scully's eye, and waves the hidden company forward.

He doesn't have to watch to know that they're coming; the screams of the men are fierce in his ears as they charge ahead to reinforce their comrades. Amongst the deep-throated cries, Mulder can clearly hear Scully's voice, and even in the midst of all of the chaos, he hopes fervently that no one else notices that her screams are far higher-pitched than anyone else's around her.

The Confederates keep on coming, swarming up the raised earth and onto the tracks, and for awhile, Mulder loses track of Scully in the melee. He's aware of Colonel Skinner nearby, ignoring his aides' pleas for him to take cover and protect himself, fighting every bit as fiercely as the men around him, and Mulder feels a surge of pride, both for being under this man's command, and for having proven himself in the eyes of such a fine soldier. The Eighty-Third Pennsylvania, inspired by the valor of their brigade commander (and, Mulder very much hopes, of their own colonel), fight as fiercely as Mulder has ever seen, and slowly, painstakingly, they begin to push the Confederates back, away from the tracks. 

Once Mulder's men have forced the Confederates into the clearing between the tracks and the tree line, once they're firing down on the enemy from an elevated position, it's all over. A flash of motion in the trees catches Mulder's attention, and for a moment, he fears that reinforcements have arrived and that his men will be under heavy fire again at any moment... but it's only the commander of the enemy regiment, waving his men back, ordering their bugler to sound the retreat. The Confederates have, apparently, attacked alone, without any additional troops held in reserve behind them. Whether faulty intelligence has led them to believe that the Union numbers were fewer than they are, or whether it's simply stupidity on the part of some Confederate general, Mulder doesn't care: they are, for the moment, out of danger.

Or, at least, they're about to be.

At the last second, the final retreating line of Confederates turn, just under the eaves of the trees, and, covering the retreat of their comrades and preventing Mulder's men from giving chase, train their muskets on the Union men now resuming their cover behind the railroad tracks. The men in blue not yet behind the raised earth of the tracks take aim in response, and sporadic fire runs up and down the lines on both sides. 

Just to his right, Mulder catches sight of Scully again, aiming her own rifle as the men in her company cheer, watching the retreating rebels. She's waving one-handed for them to get down, to take cover, that there are still guns aimed at them, but by and large, they're not listening.

Across the clearing, a handful of rebel soldiers steps forward, out from under the overhanging branches, to get a better shot, and the world around Mulder suddenly comes to an abrupt halt as two of them take aim at Scully. She doesn't see them, but Pendrell, standing to her left, does, and he reacts more quickly than Mulder would have thought possible. He throws his weight against Scully just as the rebel guns fire, knocking them both to the ground.

Even from where Mulder stands, twenty yards away, he sees the bullet tearing through Pendrell.

Forgetting the retreating rebels, forgetting his command, forgetting everything except getting to Scully, Mulder races along the tracks, weaving between soldiers still cheering over their sudden and decisive victory, completely unaware that Mulder's entire world may very well have just come to an abrupt and bloody end. Men are already clustered around Pendrell and Scully when he arrives, and Private Jorgensen is rolling Pendrell, who has fallen on top of Scully, onto his back.

Mulder can tell immediately that Pendrell is lost. He's been shot straight through the right side of his chest, and by the way he's gasping futilely for breath, it looks as though he's been hit in the lung. There is nothing that anyone will be able to do for him.

The chest of Scully's uniform jacket is soaked with blood, and for a moment, Mulder is terrified that she's already gone... but she's opening her eyes, pushing herself up, and he realizes that it must be Pendrell's blood. She doesn't even seem to see Mulder as she drags herself to Pendrell's side.

"Pendell? Can you hear me?" His eyes, wild with pain and fear, find hers, and he opens his mouth, trying to speak, but he can't breathe, and the words only bubble in his throat. "No, no, don't try to talk," Scully says, her voice hoarse, and Mulder knows that she's seen what he's seen and has come to the same conclusion: Pendrell only has moments left to live. She reaches down and clasps his hand in her own, holding it tightly as the dying man sputters and gasps and looks imploringly up at her, as though she can somehow save him. 

It only lasts another moment. Pendrell's lips, under their coating of blood and dirt, are blue, and his face is deathly pale. What remains of his breath has deteriorated into a dull rattle in his throat, and as Mulder watches, his chest hitches convulsively once, twice... and is still. His hand slips from Scully's grasp, and his eyes go blank.

Scully bows her head, breathing deeply, and Mulder knows she's trying to keep control of herself in front of the other men. She gently places Pendrell's hand atop his chest, then reaches out and closes his eyes. She remains kneeling by his side for a moment longer; then, using her rifle to push off of the ground, she stands up.

And immediately falls back down again.

Mulder sees, for the first time, the spreading patch of red along the bottom of Scully's uniform jacket, and he realizes: Pendrell, in all his heroism, had only caught one of the shots meant for Scully. The second has hit her directly in the gut.

He falls to the ground next to her, one hand covering her stomach, applying pressure, trying desperately to keep the bleeding in check. Not caring who is watching, he cups her cheek with her other hand, willing her to keep looking at him, to keep breathing.

As Mulder watches, Scully's eyes slip slowly closed.


	15. Chapter 15

OCTOBER 1863  
NEAR BRISTOE STATION, VIRGINIA

 

Mulder is only dimly aware, in his state of shock, of Colonel Skinner dropping down beside him. He's speaking urgently in Mulder's ear, but as dazed as Mulder is, it takes a moment for his words to penetrate.

"We need to get him to a private medical tent, Mulder," Skinner is saying. "Your regimental surgeon can't treat him here, you know they can't."

"We don't have time, Sir," Mulder insists, but Skinner will not be ignored. He gives Mulder's shoulder a rough shake and leans closer.

"And what will the medics see when Lieutenant Scully's jacket and shirt are removed, Mulder?" Skinner hisses, low enough that only Mulder can hear. It takes a moment for him to realize the import of Skinner's words, but once they've sunk in, Mulder realizes that the colonel is right. He doesn't know how Skinner knows the truth about Scully, or how long he's known it for, but he's right: they cannot strip off Scully's uniform here in the field.

Without standing, without moving his hand or releasing any of the pressure he's applying to Scully's stomach, Mulder calls for his horse, and Skinner does the same. When they're brought up, Skinner takes over applying pressure while Mulder climbs up into the saddle; then, moving quickly but carefully, Skinner lifts Scully and settles her onto the horse in front of Mulder.

"The brigade in front of us saw action before we did," says Skinner, as he climbs onto his own horse. "They'll have medical tents set up by now." They ride north along the tracks as fast as they dare, but as still as Mulder tries to hold Scully, she's still being jostled all over the place. She groans in pain suddenly, and Mulder holds her closer against his own body.

"Hang on, Scully," he says softly. "We're getting you to a surgeon. We're gonna get you patched right up, okay?" But instead of soothing Scully, his reassurances only make her more anxious.

"No," she groans, her voice ragged with pain. "No surgeon, Mulder. They'll see...." Her words are lost in a gasp.

"You let me worry about that, Lieutenant," says Skinner firmly. "You just hold on tight and let us get you taken care of. No one is blowing the whistle on you, I promise you that." Scully has slumped against Mulder; as far as he can tell, she's lost consciousness again.

Colonel Skinner is right: the brigade before them has already set up medical tents, and the surgeons are busy treating the wounded. Skinner strides up to a surgeon just emerging from a tent. The man wipes his bloody hands on his apron and salutes, but Skinner, in his haste, doesn't return it.

"I have a wounded officer here that I need you to treat immediately," he says. "And I need you to do it alone, without any other soldiers in the tent. Just us." The surgeon is, understandably, confused. 

"All due respect, but I may need assistance, Sir," he protests.

"You'll have us," says Skinner. "You tell us where to press and when. We'll do as you say." The surgeon still looks dubious. "Come on, half the men you have assisting here don't have any more medical training than we do, do they?"

"I suppose not," says the man with a sigh. "Bring him in here." He ducks back into the medical tent, and moments later, several men stream out of it, looking at one another- and at Mulder, Scully, and Skinner- in total confusion. Skinner dismounts, and Mulder lifts Scully carefully into the colonel's arms, then jumps down off of his own horse and follows them into the medical tent.

Skinner places Scully, who is still unconscious, onto the table, then turns to the doctor, his expression stern.

"What's your name, soldier?" he asks.

"Corporal Zuckerman, Sir," the man replies. Skinner nods.

"Corporal Zuckerman, I want your word that you will not, under any circumstances, tell anyone what you have seen in this tent." Zuckerman nods.

"You have it, Sir, but...." His gaze strays to Scully, lying on the table between them. "Who is this, if you don't mind my asking?"

"This is Lieutenant Scully of Pennsylvania, a fine soldier whose worth and bravery have been proven many times over," says Skinner. "That's all that you need to know." Zuckerman frowns at him a moment longer; then, decisively, he nods.

"Help me get his uniform off," he tells them, and as he unbuttons Scully's jacket, Mulder steps forward and helps maneuver it carefully off of her. They lift her shoulders, pulling the coat out from under her, and Zuckerman starts on her shirt. When he exposes the bandages wrapped around Scully's chest, he draws back, frowning.

"Is this man recovering from another injury?" he asks. Skinner shakes his head. "Then why..." The surgeon's voice trails off as he examines Scully more closely. Mulder knows exactly what he's seeing: her short stature, her slight build, the fine features, the total lack of facial hair. He draws back in shock. "I can't operate on a woman!" he exclaims.

"Why not?" Mulder demands.

"I never have before! I've only ever treated men!"

"From what I understand, the essentials remain the same," says Skinner dryly. "We're wasting time. It's a bullet wound, not childbirth. Treat her the same as you would any other soldier."

To his credit, once Corporal Zuckerman gets going, he doesn't fool around at all. Ordering Skinner and Mulder around without hesitation, he directs them in holding Scully down as he probes the bullet wound in her abdomen. At first, she remains unconscious, but before long, she's awake and thrashing, and Mulder marvels that someone so tiny can put up such a fight.

"Lieutenant Scully, please lie as still as you can," Corporal Zuckerman tells her. "I need to assess the extent of your injuries." Scully stills, her chest still heaving.

"Mulder?" she says, her voice weak.

"I'm here, Scully," he says, leaning closer so that she can see his face. "The surgeon's going to fix you up, all right? Just hold on." Scully closes her eyes against the pain as Zuckerman probes at the bullet hole. After a moment, he straightens up.

"You're extremely lucky," he tells Scully.

"Doesn't feel like it at the moment," she grumbles, and in spite of the gravity of the situation Mulder can't help but smile. God, he loves this woman.

"Just an inch to one side, and it would have gone into your stomach," says Zuckerman. "A little further down, and it would have nicked your bowel. As it stands, it looks as though the bullet was deflected by a button on your uniform and slowed just enough so that it's still in you. We just need to get it out and stitch you back up." He looks up at Mulder and Skinner. "This isn't going to be pleasant," he says. "I need you both to hold her. This is delicate work and she _cannot_ thrash around." Skinner takes up a position by Scully's legs, leaning his weight onto them. Mulder looks down at her, and she nods at him.

"It's all right," she tells him. She lifts her hands and grasps his upper arms, pulling him down until he's nearly lying across her chest with his face right above hers.

"Have you got her?" asks Zuckerman.

"I'm ready," says Skinner. Mulder looks down at Scully, who closes her eyes, bracing herself. Mulder takes a deep breath and leans as much of his weight on Scully as he can.

"Go ahead," says Mulder. He doesn't watch, but he can tell the moment that the surgeon's forceps begin searching for the musket ball just by Scully's reaction. Her fingers dig into his arms so hard that she'd be drawing blood if there weren't two layers of fabric protecting him, and her teeth grind together as she tries to breathe through the pain. 

It seems to go on forever... but in reality, it's only about thirty seconds before Zuckerman straightens up with a victorious "Ah-HAH!" He holds up the bloody forceps so that Scully can see the glinting ball of metal held firmly between the tips. "Would you like to keep it?" he asks Scully. "Some soldiers do, you know." Scully manages a wry smile through the pain.

"Sure, why not?" She nods at Mulder, who takes the musket ball for her, tucking it away into his pocket.

"I'll need you to hold her down again while I stitch up the wound," says Corporal Zuckerman. "I'll try to be quick, but I want to make certain that this heals correctly. She's been very lucky so far and I'd like to keep that streak going."

"I've got to agree with you there," murmurs Mulder as he leans over Scully, looking at her apologetically as he puts his weight on her again.

"This isn't how I pictured this happening, Mulder," she whispers in his ear, and he grins. 

Being stitched up must not hurt nearly as badly as having the bullet dug out of her, because Scully hardly needs to be held down at all as Zuckerman works. When he straightens up, nodding in approval at his handiwork, Mulder and Skinner stand up as well. Scully, utterly exhausted to the point that she can barely speak, regards Zuckerman with some apprehension.

"Will you turn me in?" she asks him. He looks at Mulder and at Skinner, who is glaring at him as though he might rip the surgeon limb from limb, should he see a need, and sighs.

"No, I won't," he says. "I promised these gentlemen that I wouldn't, and I'm a man of my word. But that doesn't mean that I'm happy about it." Scully nods and closes her eyes, her head slumping back onto the table in relief.

"Thank you," she says.

"And I want _your_ word," Zuckerman continues, "that you'll rest up and allow yourself to heal completely before you go charging back into battle. By returning to action too early, you risk reopening the wound, and you possibly risk infection, as well." Scully, clearly completely out of energy, manages to nod her acquiescence, before finally passing out. The three men in the tent release a collective sigh of relief.

"Where can we take her?" Skinner asks. "Not the Army hospital in Washington, surely?"

"Definitely not," agrees Zuckerman. "Aside from the likelihood that the nurses there would discover the truth about her within a day of her arrival, the Army hospitals are crawling with disease. She'd have a better chance of recovering if we left her lying in this field after the army has moved on."

"Could she be convinced to be sent home, at least until she's recovered?" asks Skinner. Mulder shakes his head.

"We'd never be able to talk her into it," he says. "If she goes home, she'll never be able to return, and that would be out of the question for her."

"Doesn't she have any other family that she could stay with?" asks Skinner.

"A sister," says Mulder, "but she's all the way up in New York City." An idea suddenly occurs to him. "We could send for her, though," he says. "If her sister could come down here and care for her while she convalesces, I think that I might know of a place where they could stay. It's nearby, too."

"Where?" asks Skinner.

"My family's plantation, in Culpeper," says Mulder. "My parents and my sister aren't there right now; they went to stay with friends in Fredericksburg when the army came through. The only people there are the servants who care for the place while they're away." Skinner nods his approval of this plan.

"We'll send word to Scully's sister immediately, then," he says. He turns to Corporal Zuckerman. "Can she be moved there on horseback?"

"She shouldn't be, if it can be avoided," the surgeon says. Skinner nods.

"In that case, Mulder, we'll arrange for you to have the use of a wagon to transport Scully. I can give you a few days' furlough to take her there and get her settled in, and wait for her sister, but after that, you'll need to return to your regiment."

"Thank you, Sir," Mulder says. The full realization that Scully has survived is beginning to sink in, and the relief is so strong that he feels light-headed.

"If that's settled, Sir, I'll need to clear this tent out for my next patient," says Corporal Zuckerman. "I hate to be so brusque, but we've got lots of wounded and only so many places to treat them."

"Of course," says Skinner. "Thank you, Corporal Zuckerman, for your help. And for your discretion."

Night has fallen since their arrival at the field hospital, and the air has grown cold. Skinner carries Scully all the way back to the regiment, rather than risk jostling her on horseback. Mulder offers to relieve him after a stretch, but Skinner demurs.

"I'm bigger than you," he says. "And besides, it's not as though she weighs all that much." And so Mulder rides his horse while holding the reins for Skinner's, and before long, they come upon the campfires of the Eighty-Third Pennsylvania. With the enemy still likely close at hand, they haven't set up tents, so Skinner carefully sets Scully down (her shirt and uniform once again carefully buttoned up) on the grass under the trees and goes off to organize Mulder's wagon. 

Mulder, for his part, writes up a hasty letter to Scully's sister Melissa, trying to convey the urgency of the situation, without causing any more worry than absolutely necessary. He doesn't want Melissa to think that her little sister is on death's door, lest she think that she needs to send for their mother to come and say goodbye to her, but he wants to make sure that Melissa doesn't take her time getting to Virginia, either.

He locates Private Jorgensen, who had set about gathering up Scully's things when Skinner had decided to take her elsewhere to receive treatment. Jorgensen has been worrying (much to Mulder's surprise; he's never gotten the impression that the private is all that fond of Scully- or of anyone, really), and so after relieving him of Scully's haversack and supplies, Mulder points him in the direction of where Skinner had laid Scully down to rest. From a letter in the haversack, Mulder finds Melissa Scully's address in New York, and moments later, he dispatches his own missive with instructions that it is to be delivered with all possible haste.

By the time he's finished, Skinner has returned with the wagon. A handful of blankets have been layered on the bottom, and Mulder immediately adds his own bedroll before Skinner settles Scully in. She's still out cold, and as bumpy as the road ahead is likely to be, Mulder badly hopes that she stays that way.

Once Mulder's finished hitching up his horse, Skinner hands him a flask.

"Whiskey," he says. "In case Lieutenant Scully wakes up on the way." Mulder nods his thanks. "I need you back in four days' time, all right?" he says. "I would give you more time if I could, but with Lee's army still close by...." He shakes his head. "We could see action again at any time. I can take command of this regiment for a few days, but no longer than that. I have the entire brigade to look after."

"I understand, Sir," Mulder assures him. "And I appreciate all that you've done. I know that Lieutenant Scully does, as well." Skinner nods.

"Get going, then," he says, and Mulder does.

The night is dark, but this is the country where Mulder grew up, and he scarcely needs to be able to see to know the way home. He guides the horse as quickly as he dares, always on the lookout for pickets from either army, as well as for thieves and raiders. Once or twice, Scully lets out a low moan from her position in the wagon, but each time, when Mulder turns to check on her, she's still unconscious. He hopes she's warm enough, but doesn't dare to take the time to stop and be sure.

It's nearly dawn when they cross over into his father's land. The fields are empty, the harvest having come and gone, and Mulder doesn't see anyone until he's nearly at the house. Someone must have been watching at the front window, because the front door of the mansion is thrown open as he rides up the drive, and his family's house servant, James, rushes out to meet him.

"Master Fox!" he cries. "We didn't know you were coming! Your father never sent word to expect you!"

"He doesn't know I'm here, James," says Mulder, swinging down out of the saddle. "And it should stay that way if it's at all possible." James looks worried.

"Master Fox, you know I love you, we all do, but... I can't be doing anything your father would frown on, you know that."

"I know, James, I know," says Mulder. He motions towards the back of the wagon, and James follows him, peering inside. "This is my dear friend, Lieutenant Scully. He was shot yesterday and he needs somewhere to rest while he gains back his strength. It's not any sort of covert operation, James, I promise you that. I just need somewhere for him to recover, until he's ready to be back with the army." James still looks dubious. "You won't even have to care for him, I promise," Mulder continues. "I've sent for his sister in New York to come down and nurse him."

"But your father... he wouldn't like strange Yankee soldiers in his house, Fox," says James.

"Scully's not a stranger," says Mulder. "Mother and Father have met him. Samantha, too. He stayed with us in Fredericksburg just last summer." He sighs. "I just don't want anyone knowing he's here, that's all," he says. "I don't want a Confederate patrol storming in here and taking him prisoner. I can't stay with him for more than a few days, but I need to know he'll be all right." He fixes James with a pleading look. "Please, James," he says. "He's very dear to me. I just want to know that he's safe." With a heavy sigh, James nods.

"All right, Master Fox. We won't send word to your father, and if he writes, I'll answer him back that all is as it should be." He shakes his head. "I suppose it's not exactly a lie. As long as your Mister Scully doesn't try to burn the place down, that is."

"He won't, James. I promise you that. And please, I've asked you a hundred times, don't call me 'Master.' Just 'Mulder,' or even 'Fox,' if you insist." Mulder clambers up into the wagon and carefully lifts Scully down. James bends over for a closer look, frowning.

"Awful young, isn't he?" James asks... and then, his eyes pop. "Fox, I'm not sure if you've noticed or not, but your Lieutenant Scully is no 'he.'" Mulder grins.

"Caught that, did you?" He laughs. "She's managed to fool the entire Union army, me included up until last July, but she couldn't pull the wool over your eyes, James." He starts towards the house. "Can you get the bags? I'll put her in Samantha's room for now. I have a feeling Sam wouldn't mind."


	16. Chapter 16

**Part Four**

 

OCTOBER 1863  
CULPEPER, VIRGINIA

Scully's dreams are disjointed and confused, and she's never certain if she's awake or asleep at any given moment. Unfamiliar surroundings and strange faces drift in and out of her consciousness, and she thinks that Mulder is there, his face tight with worry, but she can't be sure. The pain in her stomach is the only real constant, a sharp and aggressive ache that pulls at her with every slight motion.

When she finally awakens completely, she discovers that she is, indeed, in a strange place. Comfortable, it's true, but strange nonetheless. The bed in which she's been sleeping is soft, upholstered with plush quilts of pale blue, perfectly matching the blue canopy above her head. The room is large, with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto rolling fields, empty of crops after the autumn harvest. Everything- the furniture, the land, the room itself- seems to indicate that she's in the home of a well-established (and likely wealthy) family, and she has no idea how she's gotten here.

"Scully?" At the sound of Mulder's voice, she relaxes somewhat: wherever she is, he's here as well, so she must be safe. She tries to turn to see him- he's just out of sight to her left- but the pain in her abdomen intensifies and she gasps. "No, don't move, it's all right," Mulder says, coming into view at last and sitting at the edge of the bed. He reaches for her hand without hesitation. His other hand strokes gently at her cheek, and in spite of the lingering ache, she feels warm all over.

There's the sound of a door opening, off to the right, and Mulder looks up, across the room, at someone Scully can't see. "She just woke up," he says, and Scully hears quick, light footsteps approaching... and then, the last person she could ever have expected appears at her other side.

"Melissa!" she gasps, her voice scratchy with disuse. "How did you- what did-" Her sister takes the hand that Mulder's not holding. "What are you doing here?"

"Your friend Colonel Mulder here sent for me," says Melissa. "I got an urgent message telling me that you'd been hurt, that you were going to need someone to take care of you while you recover." Scully looks at Mulder, dismayed.

"'Take care' of me?" she demands. "Why would I need to be taken care of, Mulder?"

"Because you can't sit up, Scully, says Mulder patiently. His exasperation is tinged with affection, and he squeezes her hand. "I know it's going to make you crazy, but you're going to need to stay in bed and rest for a long time if you want that wound to heal."

"But what about the regiment?" Scully demands. "Who's commanding the regiment, if you're here, Mulder?" She looks around again. "And where _is_ here, anyway?"

"We're at my family's plantation in Culpeper," says Mulder. "I brought you here four days ago, and you've been in and out of consciousness since then. Colonel Skinner is commanding the men, until I return. Your sister arrived just this morning... and a good thing, too, because I have to leave today."

"I came as quickly as I could," Melissa puts in. "I took the train as far as it would take me, and hitched a ride the rest of the way here with some highly interesting characters... definitely not the sorts of traveling companions Mother or Father would approve of."

"Does Mother know what happened?" Scully asks her, already cringing at the very idea.

"Not yet," says Melissa. "But... I think that we should write to her and tell her." Scully groans. "We don't have to say where you are. We could just tell her that you're somewhere safe, and I'm with you. But she'd want to know, Dana. You know she would." Scully sighs.

"Fine," she says, relenting. "But do _not_ tell her where we are. Not the town, not the region, not even the state. I wouldn't put it past her to track me down and drag me home, and I'm not exactly fit to fight her off just now." Melissa smiles.

"I'll go write her now," she says, standing. "That will give the two of you the chance to say farewell in private." She grins brashly as Scully's glare, and sweeps out of the room. Scully turns to Mulder apologetically.

"She's never been big on tact," she says, but Mulder only smiles.

"She's had plenty of questions for me in the few hours she's been here, and I've been playing my cards close to my vest," he says. "So, fair warning: she's likely going to interrogate you as soon as I leave."

"Terrific," sighs Scully. The idea of trying to explain her strange, wonderful, and ever-evolving relationship with Fox Mulder to her romantic, free-spirited sister, while stuck in bed, immobile and unable to flee, is not something she relishes. Melissa is going to want to know absolutely everything about what she and Mulder are to one another... not to mention, everything about all of the men in her regiment. She'll ask what it's like to spend all of that time surrounded by men, what they talk about, how they look, whether she's seen any of them naked, if any of them are handsome, which ones she could possibly write letters to in hopes of kindling some sort of romance-by-mail... and as Scully mentally lists all of the eligible bachelors she can think of, she remembers something.

"Pendrell," she says. "What happened to Private Pendrell?" Mulder says nothing... but she has all the answer she needs in the way that his face falls. In truth, she'd known the moment she had seen Pendrell's wound, the moment she had heard the way he'd struggled to draw breath.

"I guess you don't remember," says Mulder quietly. "He died right before we realized that you had been shot, too." He looks ashamed. "I feel terrible, but... I have to admit I didn't spare him much thought, once I saw that you were bleeding. But I've written a letter to his parents, while I've been here waiting for you to wake up, telling them how he knocked you down, how he protected you. I've sent the letter to Colonel Skinner to be forwarded to his family." Scully feels tears welling up in her eyes.

"I should write them, too," she says. "If he hadn't taken that bullet... there's every possibility that I would have died." She shakes her head, thinking back to the interactions she's had with Pendrell. They had always been friendly, to be sure, but they had by no means been the best of friends. And yet, he had taken a fatal shot for her. Her chest is suddenly tight, so tight that breathing causes her entire torso to burn. It must show in her face, because Mulder is immediately concerned.

"Scully?" He brushes his fingers over her forehead. "Are you all right?" She bites her lip and nods, trying to master herself.

"It's just...." She takes a deep, shuddering breath, and just barely manages to keep from crying out in pain. "Why did he do it? Why throw himself in front of a bullet like that? For me?"

"Because you would have done the same for him, Scully," says Mulder. "You're a good soldier, a good leader, the kind of person that inspires others to do brave things, because you do so many brave things yourself." Scully wants to object, but Mulder puts his fingers to her lips. "Yes, it's the truth," he tells her firmly. "And don't think I'm going to let me fight you on that."

"You think too much of me, Mulder," Scully mumbles, her voice weak and tired. He just grins at her.

"Not possible," he says. He glances out the window at the sun's progress towards the horizon. "I'm going to have to go," he sighs heavily. "Much as I don't want to."

"I can't believe you're going to leave me to face my sister's questions alone," says Scully, cringing at the thought of the conversations to come. 

"I don't envy you," chuckles Mulder... but then, his face softens, and he shifts his position, so that he's sitting closer. "I _am_ glad that you woke up before I had to leave, though," he says. "Because I really wouldn't have felt right about doing this while you were still asleep." And before she can ask what he means by that, he leans over and softly, tenderly, presses his lips to hers.

A small part of her knows that she should pull away, that she should stop him... but for once, she ignores the little voice on her shoulder that tells her that this is a terrible idea. Here, alone with him in a room where no one can possibly see them, she responds as much as her injured body allows her. The rush that fills her is all-consuming, just as it had been in the woods outside of the encampment, her appetite for him whet by the feel of him pressing his body up against hers as he'd stood behind her.

Scully's guilty conscience is far too quick in catching up with her, and though every ounce of her being is screaming for her to pull Mulder down into the bed beside her, she regretfully breaks the kiss. 

"Mulder," she says, "as badly as I want this, it's still wrong." He shakes his head.

"I want you and you want me," he says, and a shiver runs through her at the boldness of his statement. "What could be more right?"

"But what about Diana?" Scully asks, and again, Mulder shakes his head.

"Scully, why would I chance my future with someone who may not be a good match for me, when I know beyond a doubt how happy I would be if I spend my life with you?" 

This time, it's Scully who pulls Mulder into the kiss, and he comes willingly. Scully wishes desperately that she could keep him here, drag him into bed with her and keep him there, burrow under the covers with him and refuse to ever let him go. When he pulls back, it's much too soon for her liking, even though her increased heart rate and heavy breathing are causing her considerable pain. Mulder's eyes are bright and his face is flushed, and she thinks that hers might be, too, but for all she knows, she's still white as a sheet from blood loss.

She knows, though, that Mulder couldn't possibly miss the beaming smile that breaks out across her face. His answering smile is every bit as warm, though slightly tinged with sadness.

"I didn't want to leave before," he says, "and now I'm not sure I'm going to be able to force myself to go." She reaches up and strokes his stubbled cheek affectionately.

"You have to, though," she says, even though the thought is tearing her up inside. The idea of him back out on the battlefield without her by his side is a terrible one. She has no illusions that she can ever fully protect him, but she's always been confident in her ability to at least curb some of his more impulsive tendencies. "Promise me," she says, her hand firmer on his face, keeping him from breaking their gaze, "that you'll be careful. Promise me you'll think before you go rushing into a dangerous situation. Promise me that you'll do everything you can to come back to me in one piece."

"I'd say that this would be a terrible time for me to get careless with my life," Mulder says, reaching up and covering her hand with his own. He turns his head and presses a kiss to her palm. "Right at this moment, I have more to live for than I've ever had before." He bends and kisses her again, briefly, sweetly. "But I need _you_ to make sure it stays that way. Relax, rest, stay in bed, listen to your sister, and give yourself the time you need to heal."

"I will," Scully promises him. If he'll agree to be careful, she'll agree to just about anything. "You'll write to me? Let me know that you're still safe?"

"Of course," he says. "Though I may have to make it look as though I'm sending letters to the servants here, with yours folded inside." He chews his lip nervously. "None of my family knows that you're here, you see. I thought you would want to continue to keep your secret, if it's at all possible." He frowns. "Which reminds me, how did Colonel Skinner find out?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Scully says truthfully. "I had no idea that he knew until the moment I came to in the surgeon's tent." Truth be told, Scully hasn't given much thought to this since waking up. At first, she'd been much too concerned with the pain of her injury, and of the surgeon removing the musket ball from her abdomen. She'd passed out again before she'd really had the time to think more about it, and since waking up in Mulder's family's house, there have been... other things keeping her attention.

"Well," says Mulder, "if he hasn't ratted you out yet, I don't imagine that he's going to. I think you're probably still safe."

"Ask him how he found out, will you?" Scully asks. "If I've been careless, I'd like to know how, so I don't make the same mistake twice."

"I can do that," Mulder agrees. "I'm curious to know, myself." He looks out the bedroom windows, at the gradually-darkening grounds. "But for now, as much as I don't want to, I have to go. I promised Skinner that I would be back at the encampment tonight." He leans down and kisses her one more time, a long and lingering press of their lips. "Let your sister take care of you, all right?"

"I'll do my best," says Scully. "And you take care of yourself, you hear me?" Mulder grins.

"I'm so used to having you next to me, telling me when I'm about to do something incredibly stupid, that I think I'll still hear your voice in my head, even if you're not there to admonish me in person." Scully laughs.

"I suppose I've served my purpose, then," she says.

"Only as my lieutenant," says Mulder, his voice low and dark. "I have many, many other purposes in mind for you... but we'll get to them later." Scully shivers and bites her lip, which seems to affect Mulder in some deep, primal way. "Scully, if I don't leave right now, I'm not going to be able to," he says. She gives his shoulder a gentle push.

"You should go, then," she says. "Don't worry about me. I'll be just fine here with my sister." Slowly, reluctantly, Mulder stands. "Go on, Mulder. I'll feel better if you're not riding back in total darkness." He nods his agreement... but still, he doesn't leave. " _Go_ , Mulder," she insists. "I'll see you as soon as I'm ready to return to the regiment." He swallows.

"I'm not lying when I tell you that this is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do," he says, and she nearly melts.

"I know," she says gently. "But you still have to do it. _Go_." And with one last, longing look, he does.

As the bedroom door closes behind him, Scully lets out a long, slow sigh, trying to ignore the pain that ripples up through her abdomen. She had kept it out of her face as long as Mulder had been there watching, because she had known, on some level, that he would be less able to tear himself away from her bedside if he had known how badly she's hurting. It's almost a relief to be able to stop trying to hide it... but not enough of a relief to make up for the sudden ache of his absence.

She's not left alone for long, however. Less than five minutes after Mulder's departure, the bedroom door opens again, and Melissa strides in.

"Well," she says without preamble, sinking down onto the bed, "clearly, you've been keeping a few things from me in your letters."

"Such as?" asks Scully, resigned to being interrogated. She doesn't fool herself into thinking that Melissa can be put off simply because her little sister is in pain, not when something potentially gossip-worthy has transpired.

"Such as your dashing Colonel Fox Mulder," says Melissa. 

"I've told you about him, Missy," says Scully. "In almost every letter I've sent you, I've written about him. He's the one you were supposed to contact if you didn't hear from me for too long, isn't he?"

"Yes, you told me all of _that_ ," Melissa says dismissively. "But you never mentioned that he was handsome... _or_ that he's in love with you." 

"That's been a somewhat recent revelation," says Scully. "And most definitely not the sort of thing I would put in a letter." Melissa crosses her arms with a huff.

"You could have at least _hinted_ at what was going on," she complains.

"Nothing _has_ been going on, not really," Scully argues. "At least not until now."

"And now?" Melissa presses her. 

"Now?" Scully thinks back over their conversation, over the weighty things they've said to one another this afternoon. "Now... well, if I understand things correctly, I think we might have just gotten engaged." Melissa's mouth drops open.

"You _think?_ " she repeats, flabbergasted. "How can you only _think_ that you _might_ have gotten engaged? Did he ask? Did you say yes?"

"Well, no," Scully admits. She can't quite explain it, the feeling of gravity inherent in the conversation that she and Mulder have just had, the sense that she has that they've just committed themselves to one another, fully and permanently. She and Mulder have always possessed the ability to understand what isn't being said every bit as well as what's being voiced out loud, but to an outsider, it's difficult to put into words. "He told me that he wants to spend the rest of his life with me, that he's not interested in marrying the woman his family thinks he's going to marry." Melissa doesn't look convinced.

"He was already engaged to someone else?" Scully shakes her head.

"No, not really," she says. "His parents expect them to marry, but he's never proposed, he's never told the girl that he ever intends to." Melissa, perversely, is thrilled by this.

"It's all rather like a romance novel, isn't it?" she exclaims. "His family wants him to marry a girl in his own social circle, and instead, he's fallen for the lowly sailor's daughter, and now he's going to have to defy his family to defend his love." Scully rolls her eyes.

"It's not quite that dramatic, Missy," she says. "And it's not as though either of us planned for this to happen. I never meant for him to find out about me... and I _certainly_ never meant for him to fall in love with me. I was happy enough to just be his friend."

"And yet, here he is, madly in love with you," says Missy, undaunted. "It's clearly meant to be. It's fate, Dana. The stars are aligned in your favor."

"I'm lying in bed after being shot in the stomach," Scully grouses, irritated. "I would hardly call this evidence of the stars, or anything else, working in my favor at the moment."

"You're alive, aren't you?" Melissa points out. "And soon enough, you're going to be right back by his side, as good as new. I'm going to see to that." At this, Scully laughs, even though it sends ripples of pain up and down her side. She can't help it.

"Missy," she says, "you are the most squeamish person in our entire family. You used to all but faint over the sight of a skinned knee. How do you propose to tend to something as serious as a musket wound?"

"I'll manage," Missy insists, doing her best to look dignified. "I watched Colonel Mulder, when he was changing your bandages for you. I'm sure I can handle at least that much."

"And if it becomes infected?" Missy bites her lip. "It could smell, Missy. There could be...." Scully lowers her voice, unable to resist goading her sister. " _Pus_." Missy shudders.

"Don't even _say_ that word, Dana," she protests. "You're only trying to shock me. It won't work."

"And then you might have to open the wound back up again to clean it out," Scully continues mercilessly. "The flesh could become gangrenous. And you know, there's a school of medical thought that believes that the best way to deal with rotting flesh-"

"I'm _not_ listening to this," says Melissa, shaking her head and clapping her hands over her ears.

"-is to put live maggots on the infected site and allow them to eat away the putrid tissues, until only healthy flesh is left behind." Melissa squeaks indignantly.

"I'm warning you, Dana," she says, mustering as much older sibling authority as she can, "if you won't let me take care of you, if you make it as difficult as possible...." She fixes her younger sister with a stern and threatening glare. "I'll have no choice but to call in reinforcements." Scully pales.

"You wouldn't," she says.

"I absolutely would," says Missy. "If you won't cooperate for me, I'm quite certain that Mother would have no objection at all to coming down here and taking over." Scully has nothing to say to this. "So do you think I'll be up to the challenge of taking care of you?" Her younger sister remains silent, and Melissa smiles, satisfied. "That's what I thought," she says, and stands. "So for now, I suggest you get some sleep. I'll be back later this evening with some supper."

As Missy flounces out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her, Scully sinks back into the pillows with a sigh, wondering exactly what she'll need to do in order to set a new record recovery time for a musket ball to the stomach. As far as she's concerned, her health cannot return quickly enough.


	17. Chapter 17

NOVEMBER 1863  
CULPEPER, VIRGINIA

 

Dana Scully has never been good at staying still.

Her parents have always told stories- her father fondly, and her mother with an air of patient exasperation- of how, even as a baby, little Dana had always been into everything, crawling early, walking early, and climbing early, leaving her parents and her older siblings to chase her all over the house. To hear Maggie Scully tell it, Dana had been very lucky to live long enough to see her first birthday.

As a child, she had had no patience whatsoever for her mother's endless embroidery lessons, preferring instead to sneak off to ride her father's horses, to trail through the alleyways of the town after her brothers, and later, once her father had finally broken down and agreed to teach her to shoot, to go hunting in the woods. Her mother had never approved of these expeditions, at least not explicitly, but since Dana had been a far better shot than either of her brothers (and even her father), Maggie had never minded the extra meat her daughter had brought to the dinner table. Feeding six people could be an expensive endeavor.

As she had gotten older, the only thing that seemed to be able to keep Dana Scully seated in one place for any length of time had been her studies. A devoted and conscientious student, she had far outpaced the lessons set for her by the local school, and her father, concerned that his youngest would not be challenged enough, had engaged a private tutor to take over her education. Her mother had balked at the idea, worried that the expense would be an extravagance (and quite possibly wasted on a girl), but William Scully had insisted. He had, himself, had great scholastic aptitude in his youth, and while his own parents had not had the means to help him reach his full potential, he had been determined that his daughter would be allowed to reach hers.

But still, in between her lessons, teenaged Scully had had very little patience for the quiet and ladylike endeavors her mother had tried to plan for her. And now, with only a year left in her teens, her abhorrence for inactivity persists. The army, with its daily drilling and frequent long-distance marches, had been ideal for her... but now, stuck lying in bed day after day, she's in a pitiable state.

During the first two weeks, Melissa brings her nearly every book in the house that she can find. Scully is dismayed to find that she has already read nearly every volume housed in Samantha Mulder's shelves, and has read at least half of her brother's. Bill Mulder's library is mostly comprised of ponderous religious tomes of dubious modern relevancy, and technical books on farming methods. Even less helpful is Teena Mulder's tiny collection of etiquette and outdated child-rearing manuals (though Teena has, to Scully's surprise, fairly recent editions of Charles Knowlton's _Fruits of Philosophy_ and Robert Dale Owen's _Moral Physiology_ , both of which she reads cover-to-cover with decidedly more than a theoretical interest). By the beginning of November, Scully has read everything on offer and is driving Melissa up the wall with her continuous requests for her sister to please let her out of bed before she expires from boredom.

"The more you rest now, the sooner you'll be able to go back to your regiment," Missy tells her, repeatedly, but as much as Scully knows her sister is right, it doesn't make her forced inactivity any easier to bear. She writes letter after letter to Mulder, often so many that the postman takes multiple letters from her on the same day. He writes back as often as he can, but as the regiment continues to move from place to place in Virginia, his responses are less frequent than she would like.

His letters are, however, overflowing with affection for her in ways that leave little doubt in her mind about where they stand with one another. She might have been hesitant when she had told her sister that she thought they'd agreed to become engaged, but Mulder has put her questions to rest once and for all.

"When this war is over," he writes, "I want to ride to Harrisburg with you, to meet your parents. Not just to tell them about your bravery, about how indispensable you have been to me as a lieutenant, but to make sure that they- and any other potential suitors- know that our future together has been decided. Whatever your mother and father might think of the manner in which we met and fell in love, I want to be sure that they know how proud I am to have a woman like you by my side." 

Scully, for her part, is less concerned with her own parents' responses than with Mulder's.

"You need not worry about how _my_ parents will react, Mulder," she writes him in response. "You're the oldest son of a wealthy landowner. Regardless of how we might have met, you are still a far more advantageous match than they could ever have hoped to make for either of their daughters. I'm certain they'll be too much in awe of you to turn you away. _Your_ parents, on the other hand, are unlikely to be much impressed with a poor sailor's daughter who met you while playing dress-up in the enemy's army- especially given that they already have a far more suitable match picked out." Mulder is, predictable, dismissive.

"It doesn't matter whether or not my parents approve," he writes her. "This is my decision to make, and I choose you. There is nothing that anyone- not my parents, not your parents, not Diana- can say to me that will change my mind."

Much of this correspondence is, despite Scully's best efforts, read over her shoulder by her sister, who finds the entire thing deliriously romantic and does not hesitate to tell her so.

"It's just not _fair_ , Dana," she complains, lying on her back on the corner of the bed, her arm thrown dramatically up over her forehead. "I left home and ran away to New York City in search of romance and adventure, and all I've gotten for my troubles is an overcrowded apartment that I'm forced to share with three girls who are all prettier than I am. You, on the other hand, run off and join the army and end up engaged to a rich, handsome landowner's heir."

"Let's not forget the part where I ended up with a musket ball in my belly," grumbles Scully. She's not feeling particularly well today, having slept poorly and woken with a stubborn cough, and she's less patient with Melissa than she might normally be.

"Still, I think even with that, you come out ahead of me," says Melissa. "And you're the _youngest_ , for goodness sake. It was hard enough that you already had an offer of marriage long before me, with father's doctor friend- what was his name?"

"Daniel," sighs Scully.

"Yes, him. It was bad enough that he approached Father for your hand when you were practically still a child, but now you're going to actually be _married_ before I've even had a man show the slightest bit of interest."

"Not necessarily," Scully points out. "Nothing is going to happen until the war is over. For all we know, it could drag on another ten years." She bites her lip. "Or one of us might not even survive. This was already a close call, and-" But she's cut short as she's shaken by a bout of coughing so long and deep that it pulls at her still-healing injury. Melissa sits up and watches her worriedly as she clasps her side in pain, struggling to get her breath back.

"That's the third time this has happened in an hour, Dana," says Missy, every last hint of whimsy gone from her voice. "And your face is getting whiter by the minute." She reaches out and feels Scully's forehead. "You're warmer, too."

"I may have a fever," Scully admits. She's been feeling increasingly lethargic all day, but until now she's been putting it down to the fact that she hasn't felt like eating much for the past few days, and Missy, anxious to avoid conflict, hasn't been pressing the issue. But now, as she works to master her breathing, she can't avoid facing up to the realization that something is wrong.

"What do I do, Dana?" Melissa asks. "Mother used to put cold compresses on our foreheads when we were sick. Should I do that?"

"It's probably a good place to start," Scully agrees. 

"Maybe I should ask James," says Melissa. "If he doesn't know what to do, maybe one of the other servants here does." Scully shakes her head.

"None of the others will come in the house, even with Mulder's father gone," she reminds her sister. The few servants that have been left to take care of the plantation in its owners' absence are field hands, forbidden from entering the house, with the exception of James, who, Mulder had explained, had figured out Scully's secret the moment he had laid eyes on her. "I don't want-" But she's interrupted by yet another bout of coughing, this one worse, and by the time it finally subsides, Scully is completely winded.

"Close your eyes and rest, Dana," says Melissa, standing and removing some of the pillows that are propping Scully up, forcing her to lie back down flat. "I'm going to make a cold compress and... and...." She wrings her hands, clearly at a loss. "I'll have someone make you some broth. That will help, right?" Scully closes her eyes, too weary to argue.

"Sounds good," she says weakly, even though the idea of trying to eat something just now seems horrifically exhausting. Missy says something in response, but Scully is already drifting off to sleep.

She's not sure how much time has passed, or if she's even truly awake, when she next hears her sister speaking, having a hushed discussion with someone whose voice Scully doesn't recognize.

"You don't understand, I've never taken care of someone who's ill before," Missy is saying. "I've no idea what could be wrong with her, no idea what I'm supposed to do."

"Miss, there's no one nearby that we can send for," a male voice responds. "The doctor in Culpeper is with Lee's army. The only other people 'round here are the men who work the fields and tend the animals, and none of them are gonna set foot in this house, not even if Master Fox himself shows up and asks them. They're too afraid of his father." This, Scully thinks through her feverish haze, must be James, the house's caretaker.

"What about someone else from the village?" Missy asks. "Isn't there anyone you could ask?"

"And how do we explain what she's doing here?" counters James. "Everyone in Culpeper knows the Mulders, and everyone in Culpeper knows they're in Fredericksburg. If someone from the village sees the two of you, they're likely to write Master William and ask him about the two strange women staying in his house."

 _Don't send for anyone_ , Scully tries to say, but she can't quite make her lips obey. _I'm fine, I'll be fine, don't let anyone find me here...._

The voices fade, and Scully dreams... or, at least, she thinks she does. It's difficult to tell. She thinks she hears her mother talking, telling her to get out of bed and help her prepare the evening meal before her father and her brothers come home. Missy is off somewhere, her mother complains, and she'll never have everything ready in time without at least one of her daughters to help her out.

Scully tries to tell her that she can't, she's sick, she's too weak to get out of bed, but her mother takes no notice, bustling around Samantha Mulder's bedroom as though she knows exactly where everything goes, as though it were a room in her own house. Watching Maggie is making Scully dizzy, so she closes her eyes.

When she opens them again, her mother is gone, and there's only Samantha's room, the night sky visible through the windows, the room itself dimly lit by a fire burning low in the grate. She turns her head to look the other way, and her father is there, sitting in the armchair that Melissa had occupied some time before.

"Hey there, Sprout," he says, smiling warmly at her. "Looks like you've gotten yourself in a spot of trouble." Scully tries to answer him and finds that she can't, but her father seems to understand her all the same. "It'll all be all right soon," he promises. "You just hold on and stay strong now, you hear me? Won't be long now. Help is on the way. But I'm warning you, Sprout, it's going to get a whole lot worse before it starts to get any better." He smiles again, sadly this time, and Scully realizes that she can see right through him to the back of the armchair.

There's a cough, the smell of cigar smoke, and then Charles Spender is leaning over her, regarding her with an air of detached curiosity. She shies away from him, and he laughs... and as she watches, his face shifts, changing to the face of the surgeon who had treated her at Bristoe Station. His mouth moves, but Scully can't make out what he's saying. Melissa stands behind him, her face pale and anxious. The light from the fire seems too bright, and Scully closes her eyes against it... and when she opens them again, Spender has returned, and it's Diana Fowley who stands at his shoulder, smiling maliciously down at her. Sean Pendrell waits by the foot of the bed, watching her worriedly, and Scully wonders if he's come to escort her to the other side, to wherever souls go when their time on Earth has ended. She tries to tell Pendrell that she's not ready, that she can't go with him, that Mulder still needs her here, that she's sorry, so sorry that he had to die, but doesn't he understand that it will all be in vain if she agrees to go with him now? She _has_ to stay.

Spender reaches out suddenly and yanks at the bandages covering Scully's wound, pulling them off and exposing the flesh of her midsection. As Scully watches, he rips at the injury and seems to shove his entire hand inside of it. The pain is immediate and all-consuming, and Scully writhes and screams, trying desperately to escape. Diana takes her left shoulder and holds her down, and someone else takes her right side. Scully looks up to see who it is, and Daniel Waterston sneers down at her, glorying in her pain, in her inability to get away.

The faces around her continue to blur and shift, until Scully doesn't know who is holding her down, Diana Fowley and Daniel Waterston or Melissa and Mulder. She doesn't know who is causing this terrible pain, the army surgeon or Charles Spender, or why they're doing this to her. All that she knows is that it goes on and on, and when at last it seems to be over, Scully can do nothing but lapse into a sleep that is blessedly and profoundly dark and dreamless.

When she next opens her eyes, Fox Mulder is gazing down at her.

"Mulder?" She can speak again, finally, though her voice is frighteningly frail, and her throat hurts terribly. She reaches towards him, trying to touch him and see whether he's real or just another vision, but she's so weak that her hand can't close the distance. He seems to understand, and takes her hand in his own, pressing it gently to his face.

"I'm here," he says. "I'm right here, Scully. And this time, I'm not leaving until you're completely well."

"What happened?" she asks, but this time, it's not Mulder who answers.

"You developed an infection," says a voice from the foot of the bed, and Scully looks over to see the surgeon from Bristoe Station. She hadn't been hallucinating him, then; he had really been here. Melissa stands just behind him. "I had to cut away the inflamed tissue and treat the wound with bromide. I'm sorry for the pain; I know it had to have been difficult to bear."

"This is Corporal Zuckerman," Mulder explains. "The same surgeon who treated you after you were shot." Scully nods.

"I remember," she says.

"Your sister sent for me when she couldn't bring your fever down," Mulder tells her.

"I didn't know what else to do," says Missy apologetically. "I could see that the wound was infected, but I didn't know how to treat it."

"I found Corporal Zuckerman and brought him with me," continues Mulder. "I had a feeling you would prefer a surgeon who already knew what he'd find under your wrappings." He grins teasingly at her, and she manages a weak smile in return.

"But won't you be missed?" Scully asks. "Both of you?" Mulder shakes his head.

"The army's gone into winter quarters," he explains. "I told Colonel Skinner what happened, and he gave both of us leave to go. Corporal Zuckerman needs to return soon, but I've been permitted to stay with you until you're well enough to come back to the regiment." Scully looks back and forth between Mulder and Melissa.

"It was you, holding me down?" she asks.

"You put up one hell of a fight," says Mulder, a trace of pride unmistakeable in his voice. "It took everything we had to keep you in one place long enough for Zuckerman to finish with you, even as sick as you were."

"You looked at us like you might kill us if you got loose," puts in Melissa. "Your face was as terrifying as I've ever seen it."

"I thought you were...." Her voice trails off. She's embarrassed, now, that her fever dreams had featured Diana. "Never mind," she says. "I must have been out of my mind with fever."

"I'd have to agree with that assessment," says Zuckerman. "And you're not out of the woods yet, by any means. I'm going to stay for a few more days, to make sure we've gotten a handle on the infection, and I'll leave medicines behind when I go in case the fever returns."

"Thank you, Corporal Zuckerman," says Mulder. "I don't want to even think about what would have happened without your help."

"Yes, thank you," chimes in Melissa. "From us, _and_ from our family. It would have been awful for all of us if you hadn't been here." Scully, already exhausted from this brief conversation, smiles her gratitude at Zuckerman even as her vision begins to go fuzzy at the edges.

"We should let you rest now," says Zuckerman. He and Melissa begin to leave, but Mulder remains in place by Scully's side.

"I'll stay," he tells the other two. "In case she needs anything."

"Mulder," Scully protests, her voice muddled and sleepy, "I'll be fine. I'm not even going to be awake."

"I'll watch you sleep, then," he whispers, low enough so that the others, standing across the room by the door, can't hear him. "It's something I've missed doing since you've been gone." Scully relents, nodding her permission, and Zuckerman and Melissa leave, shutting the door softly behind them.

The last thing that Scully is aware of, as she drifts off to sleep again, is Mulder lying down beside her, tenderly stroking her face.


	18. Chapter 18

DECEMBER 1863  
CULPEPER, VIRGINIA

 

Convalescence, Scully soon discovers, is infinitely easier to bear when Mulder remains by her side. 

It's not that Melissa hadn't tried to keep her occupied; on the contrary, her older sister had done her best to take Scully's mind off of her forced inactivity. But Melissa's idea of a riveting conversation is quite different from Scully's, and as a result, Scully had found herself tuning out of more than a few never-ending descriptions of the most minute goings-on in New York City, the ever-changing fashions, and the many, many Spiritualist gatherings that Melissa has attended.

Mulder, by contrast, takes down his favorite philosophical volumes from his personal library and debates them, point by point, with Scully, their good-natured arguments often increasing in volume and intensity to the point where Melissa, convinced that her sister will do herself further harm if allowed to continue, frequently intervenes to quiet them down.

They play poker, which Missy relishes, knowing that their mother would never approve, and she beats both Mulder and Scully soundly nearly every time.

"I get a good deal of practice in New York," she tells them. "It's not as though my friends and I have a lot of money to go out and do things, so we spend a lot of time playing cards."

As Christmas approaches, it becomes clear that Scully, who is now able to spend most of the day out of bed (though she's frequently exhausted by supper) is well past the point of relapsing. Melissa decides that it's time for her to go.

"Are you sure, Missy?" asks Scully worriedly, when Melissa announces her intentions to her while Mulder is out walking the grounds with James. "Why don't you at least stay here through Christmas?"

"Actually, I was thinking that maybe I could go back home for Christmas," Melissa confesses. "Father is at sea, and so are Bill and Charlie, and you're here... so Mother will be all alone, otherwise. I hate to think of her there by herself, worrying about all of us. At least if I go, she'll have one of her children there with her." Scully has to admit, as much as she'll miss her sister, she has an excellent point.

"You're probably right," she concedes. "And it's not as though I'll be alone here, so you don't need to worry about me." Missy grins.

"Well, I don't have to worry about you being lonely, at any rate," she says. "But I can think of a number of _other_ possible causes for concern... or at least our parents would find them concerning."

"Melissa," sighs Scully, "nothing of note is going to happen." Her sister looks scandalized.

"If that's the truth, Dana," she says, "if you're going to be alone in a house with a handsome man who's hopelessly in love with you, and you're not going to take advantage of the situation...." She shakes her head mournfully. "Then you really are beyond hope."

Mulder takes Melissa to the nearest operation train station in a phaeton after lunch and returns just as the sun is setting. Scully, waiting at the window in Samantha's room, sees him approach and feels a flutter of nervousness in her stomach.

It's never been just the two of them, not really. Not at the camp, certainly, and not even at Charles Spender's house in Fredericksburg, when she had left before staying even one night in his bedroom with him. Since his arrival here at the plantation, he's barely left her side, it's true, but neither has Melissa. Now, however, they're facing days, possibly weeks, alone together, with nothing to do and nowhere to go, no soldiers milling around them, no parents or sisters or assumed fiancees to chaperone them, to eye them closely to make certain that they've left a respectable amount of space between them.

Scully has been pacing Samantha's bedroom the entire time that Mulder has been gone, and she's embarrassed by how much it's tired her out. She sits on the edge of the bed, listening for the sound of footsteps on the landing outside.

Her hands are trembling. Why are her hands trembling? This is _Mulder_ , for God's sake.

She breathes deeply, gaining gradual mastery over herself. The gunshot wound in her abdomen twinges at the tension in her diaphragm, reminding her that she's not, after all, capable of doing all that much, particularly not tonight, when she's already so tired.

Quiet footsteps outside in the hallway claim her attention, and she turns just in time to see Mulder opening the door and slipping inside, closing it behind him. She gives him a shaky smile.

"Melissa got off all right?" she asks, and he nods.

"She asked me to tell you, again, that she loves you," he says. "And she asked me to promise to take the best care of you possible, and not to...." His voice trails off and his face grows red. "Not to let the opportunity of our current living situation pass us by." Scully stares at him a moment longer; then, suddenly, she bursts into laughter. What a perfectly _Melissa_ thing to say. Not "Be careful," or "Rest up and heal." Mulder smiles sheepishly at her.

"Like I said," chuckles Scully, shaking her head in amusement, "she's never been very big on tact." Mulder laughs along with her, crossing the room to sit next to her on the bed. He takes her hand in his, still smiling, and just like that, Scully's nervousness dissipates. This is still Mulder, still the man she trusts, still someone she knows would never put any pressure on her to do something with which she felt uncomfortable or afraid.

"James is preparing a small supper for us," says Mulder. "He'll bring it up when it's ready, and then...." He looks sheepish again. "Well, if it's all right with you, I'd like to try and get some rest. It was a long ride to and from the train station." Scully nods.

"As much as I hate to admit it, waiting for you was tiring enough," she tells him. "I'm looking forward to a good night's sleep."

Food is brought up in short order, chicken and vegetables for Mulder and soup and fresh bread for Scully, who is still not up to eating anything particularly heavy. They eat in the armchairs in front of the fire, and when they've finished, Mulder carries their trays back downstairs to the kitchen. He returns looking embarrassed.

"James very pointedly informed me that there are clean sheets on the bed in my room, down the hall," he says, and Scully's good mood wavers. "But I told him that I would rather keep an eye on you and be close by, in case you need anything during the night." He looks anxious. "But I can sleep in my own room, if you'd rather be alone tonight. I know we've probably been crowding you, your sister and I." Scully shakes her head.

"I like your idea better," she says softly, and his face melts into a gentle smile. "Go on and get ready for bed. There's more than enough room in here for you." Mulder's smile broadens.

"You're sure?" he asks. In answer, Scully folds down the covers and climbs into the bed, moving all the way over to the far side so that there's a space for Mulder. His smile blooms into a full-on grin, and he stands, pulling off his boots, socks, and jacket in short order... but then, he pauses. "I should go and get a nightshirt from my bedroom," he says. "It would be much more comfortable than sleeping in my uniform." Scully nods in agreement.

"If it's not too much trouble, I could use a fresh nightshirt as well," says Scully. "If you've got one available."

"Of course," says Mulder, disappearing down the hall for a moment. He returns with two crisp, clean, white nightshirts and tosses one to her as he twists out of his suspenders and begins to divest himself of his clothing. Scully watches with interest as more and more of his lean, rangy body is revealed to her, more than she's seen of him yet. She closely studies his strong shoulders, his ropy arms, his narrow hips and muscled abdomen, biting her lip almost unconsciously.

As though he can feel her gaze on him, Mulder stops suddenly and looks up, locking eyes with Scully. The tension in the room ratchets up sharply, and Scully is suddenly left unable to catch her breath. After a moment, Mulder smiles mischievously.

"Doesn't seem fair," he comments. "I'm decidedly more exposed than you are, I would say." Scully returns his smile... and then, before she can talk herself out of it, she sits up in bed and pulls the old nightshirt over her head, leaving herself completely naked. There's a moment of terror on her part- she's relatively certain that no one has seen this much of her since she had learned to dress herself at the age of three- but it's worth it for the look of total and utter reverence on Mulder's face. He's frozen in the act of removing his underwear, both clean nightshirts lying forgotten on the armchair next to him.

"Scully," he breathes, his voice full of awe... and then words seem to fail him. His eyes rake over her in a way that would likely make her uncomfortable, were he anyone else. "You're beautiful, Scully," he says softly, and she feels her face flush with pleasure.

"Thank you," she whispers. His gaze is too intense, and at last, she feels the need to break it, looking down. She doesn't watch him as he removes his underwear and slides into his nightshirt; she looks up only when he sits at the edge of the bed and shyly holds out the other nightshirt to her. She takes it and slips it on as he climbs in beside her. He waits patiently for her to get comfortable before moving closer, and as she looks up at him, he tentatively holds his arms open.

"If I'm overstepping, just ignore me," he says, and the uncertainty in his voice pulls at her heartstrings. "But I've been dreaming of sleeping with you in my arms for so long, and I just thought-" Scully cuts him off by moving readily into his embrace, breathing deeply with pleasure as his arms close around her.

"I've been dreaming of it, too," she tells him honestly, glorying in the feel of his firm, warm body pressing against hers from head to toe. "For so long, Mulder. I didn't think I would ever have the opportunity."

"Well, you've got it now," Mulder murmurs, burrowing into her hair so that his mouth is up against the shell of her ear. "And the good news is that this doesn't have to stop when we return to camp."

"Mmmm," she agrees, snuggling closer. He smells of clean cotton, sweat, and a trace of the soap he had used to wash up, earlier that day. And under it all is a deep, masculine scent that she knows, were she not so exhausted, would make it next to impossible for her to keep from throwing herself at him in a way that, in any other circumstances, she would find terribly embarrassing.

As it stands, all that she's able to do is to curl her body as close to his as the laws of physics will allow as she drifts off to sleep.

When she wakes, the first thing she notices is how incredibly _warm_ she is, the usual morning's chill not so much as a distant threat, even though the fire in the hearth has been allowed to burn down to cinders overnight. She's almost too warm, truth be told; her first instinct, on waking, is to throw back the heavy down-filled quilts to allow some cooler air to circulate.

What stops her is the foreign, yet delicious sensation at the back of her neck.

Mulder is kissing the exposed skin just beneath her hairline, nibbling at her the way one would sample a particularly sumptuous morsel of food, murmuring in apparent appreciation at the way that she tastes.

Scully is suffused in a rush of heat and excitement. She rolls in bed to face him, sliding an arm around his waist to pull him close, and their lips meet in a kiss that quickly grows heated beyond anything Scully has experienced before.

They've kissed, yes, and the feel and taste of him are not new, but somehow, kissing while lying down, pressed together head to foot, is an all together different experience from kissing while standing up. There's an increased sense of possibility, and with it comes the urge to do all that their circumstances are affording them... and for once, Scully is not at all inclined to second-guess, to list reasons for herself why this is not a good idea.

For once in her life, she doesn't care about the consequences.

Breaking just far enough away to regain the use of her arms, Scully reaches down and seizes the hem of her borrowed nightshirt, ripping the entire thing over her head and casting it aside. Mulder's eyes widen as he drinks in the sight of her, biting at his lower lip appreciatively as his gaze lingers at her breasts. He reaches out one hand tentatively, then brings it back to his side, glancing up shyly to meet her eyes.

"I want you to," she whispers to him, gratified to hear that her voice, at least, is steady, even if her heart is racing. She takes his hand in her own and places it atop her breast as she rolls to lie on her back, giving him full access to her body. His touch is gentle, hesitant at first, in sharp contrast to the naked hunger on his face. 

"Mulder," she tells him, smiling indulgently, "you don't have to be quite so careful. You aren't going to break me." He looks up and meets her eyes, smiling sheepishly.

"Would you think any less of me if I told you that I was nervous?" he asks her, and she smiles warmly.

"What makes you think I'm not?" she responds. "I don't have any more experience with this than you do."

"So...." His fingertips trail along her ribcage, landing on her breast and working a spiraling path to her nipple. "Since you've never done this and I've never done this... how do we know what comes next?"

"I think...." Scully sucks in her breath at the sharp shock of sensation that flies through her as Mulder rolls her erect nipple between his fingers. "I think that we just... do whatever feels natural," she suggests. "Whatever feels right to us." Mulder nods, contemplating this, and smiling softly at her, he ducks his head to her breast and takes her nipple in his mouth. Scully arches her back, steadfastly ignoring her twinging musket wound, and forces more of her breast into Mulder's mouth. He slides his hands around the sides of her ribcage, holding her gently, but firmly in place as he samples first one, and then the other breast. Pleasure courses through Scully's body and she closes her eyes, running her fingers through Mulder's hair, breathing deeply as he explores her with his mouth. Moments later, he pauses and looks up at her.

"I, uh... I want to try something," he says. "You can stop me if you don't like it. But, you know, I hear a lot of things, listening to the men around camp... especially when they've been on leave, at home with their wives."

"Or when they've been visiting certain establishments," interjects Scully wryly. Mulder laughs.

"No doubt," he says. He bends to kiss the skin just under her breasts, running the tip of his pointed tongue along her sternum and onto the soft flesh of her belly. He lowers one hand to cup the jut of her hipbone, holding himself up with the other arm. "I'm not sure I'll be able to get this right, but I'd like to try it." His mouth continues its southerly course, skimming along by her navel, the bottom of her stomach, moving, moving....

Scully gasps and tries to sit up when she realizes what Mulder is doing, but her wounded abdomen is still not ready for such sudden movements, and she cries out in pain. Mulder looks up, alarmed.

"Lie back, Scully," he tells her. "It's all right."

"This doesn't seem like it's going to be very enjoyable for you, Mulder," she observes, settling herself carefully back against the pillows.

"We'll get to me in a minute," he replies, his voice slightly muffled by her skin and hair. "But I'm a gentleman, and a gentleman always sees to his lady first."

"That's not what I've heard, from what the men in the regiment say," Scully grumbles. "To hear them tell it, they- _oh!_ " The rest of her words are lost as Mulder's mouth finds her, his lips and tongue caressing her and eliciting sensations she could never have imagined even existed. Her fingers clench reflexively, gripping at the bedsheets, and sounds she knows she's never made before in her life begin issuing forth from her mouth. It's several minutes before she's able to relax enough to begin to differentiate between the ways he's touching her, the way some things are more intense, and others, less so. 

He hits a certain spot in such a way that she feels suffused in fire, and then moves on. "Wait!" she cries out, and he freezes. "What you were doing a moment ago...." He moves his tongue back up to her clitoris, and she shivers in delight. "Yes, that," she moans. "Keep doing that." Mulder readily obliges, and within minutes, Scully is gasping for breath and crying out incoherently as her entire body is overtaken by an orgasm of almost frightening intensity.

When her breathing is back under control, Mulder raises himself on his elbows and gazes up at her, a look of unmistakable smugness on his handsome face and a wet sheen on his chin.

"Pretty pleased with yourself, aren't you?" Scully pants, and his grin widens.

"Shouldn't I be?" he asks innocently. "If I'm to judge by your reaction, that was a job well done." She reaches out a hand, which he takes, and she tugs him up to hover over her, keeping some of his weight on his elbows.

"It was," she says, running her hands through his hair. "It most definitely was." She kisses him, tasting her own strange, peculiar flavor on his lips. It's not unpleasant; by contrast, it's arousing to feel the proof that he's done this for her, that all of this is actually happening. Unable to wait a moment longer to be truly joined with him, Scully begins to pull at his nightshirt.

"This needs to come off," she murmurs in between kisses, and Mulder hastily obliges, rising up on his knees to rip off the offending garment. As he casts his clothing to the floor, Scully rakes her eyes over his body, getting a truly good look at him for the first time. Her gaze catches on the impressive erection between his legs, and she swallows nervously. Mulder notices her expression immediately.

"Are you all right?" he asks. "If you're having second thoughts, Scully, we don't have to do this. I know I've been presumptuous, and I-"

"No, Mulder, I want to," Scully assures him. "It's just that, um...." She can feel her cheeks reddening as she glances down at his erect penis again. Mulder looks with her, then back at her, worried.

"What?" he asks. "Is there something wrong with it? Is it not normal?"

"No, that's not it at all!" Scully tells him. "I just... that is, I mean...." She looks up at him, hoping hard that she doesn't look as terrified as she's suddenly feeling. "Mulder, how in God's name is that going to _fit?_ " 

They're silent for a moment, staring at each other; then, at the same moment, they burst out laughing. Mulder collapses on top of her, catching himself on his elbows at the last second. He leans his forehead against hers as they try to calm down again. Scully feels her nervousness dissipating, and she lifts her head just enough to meet Mulder's waiting lips. 

For a long moment, all they do is kiss, slowly, sweetly... until at last, Mulder reaches down between them almost casually, taking himself in hand and lowering his hips further down between her legs. Scully reaches down to help him, and after a moment of mutual fumbling and one or two false starts, Scully feels a slight pressure, a small sting... and then, increasing by degrees as he enters her, an amazing fullness, making her close her eyes and moan.

"Ohhhhh Scully," breathes Mulder, holding still and stroking her face tenderly. She runs her hands along his sides, settling them at his waist. He begins to stroke in and out of her, moving slowly, but Scully catches his hip, stopping him.

"Wait, Mulder," she says. "You have to- at the end, when you...." She mentally thanks Teena Mulder for whatever forward-thinking impulse had led her to keep _On Moral Philosophy_ on her bookshelf. "When you orgasm, you can't do it inside of me." She smiles apologetically. "Not if we want me to keep fitting into my uniform for the rest of the war, anyway." Understanding dawns in Mulder's eyes, and he bends to kiss her forehead.

"Don't worry," he tells her. "I won't let anything happen to you, I promise." Scully reaches up and pulls his head down, kissing him soundly.

"I trust you," she whispers, and with that, Mulder begins to move again. He's still gentle, though Scully can see him straining to keep himself in check. She wishes that she could tell him to just let go, to go as hard and as fast as he wants, but even if this weren't her first time, the fact remains that she's still recovering from her injury, and something tells her that truly strenuous, energetic lovemaking would not make it onto Corporal Zuckerman's list of approved post-musket-wound activities.

They will, she supposes, simply have to save all of that for later.

Long before Scully has even managed to get used to the feel of having him inside of her, Mulder backs up slightly, just enough to pull out of her completely. His eyes roll into his head and his entire body stiffens, and suddenly, Scully feels a wet warmth on her belly. Mulder looks immediately apologetic, his cheeks flaming red with embarrassment.

"I suppose that I should be grateful that you don't have any prior experiences to compare my performance to," he says. "I'm sorry that was so fast, Scully. I think I can confidently say that I can only get better from here." Scully chuckles, caressing Mulder's sweaty back.

"I wasn't expecting hours of passionate lovemaking, Mulder," she reassures him. "Nor am I in any sort of shape for it. Not yet. Besides, you were a gentleman, remember?" She kisses his brow. "You saw to me first." Mulder is immediately cheered by this.

"That's true," he agrees. Kissing her quickly, he climbs out of the bed and retrieves a handkerchief from his uniform pocket, which he uses to clean off Scully's stomach before climbing back between the blankets and gathering her close to him. She revels in the feel of his skin against hers, in the pleasant lassitude of having shared something so wonderful. Drowsiness begins to overtake her immediately, and she can tell by Mulder's deep breathing that he's dozing off, as well. 

Snuggling close to him, Scully closes her eyes and allows herself to drift off, held securely in Mulder's arms, surrounded by his scent.

She wakes, several hours later, to Samantha Mulder's horrified face.


	19. Chapter 19

DECEMBER 1863  
CULPEPER, VIRGINIA

 

Scully goes from drowsy to fully awake in less than a second. Mulder, spooned up behind her with an arm wrapped firmly around her waist, is still snoring obliviously away, blissfully unaware.

One indignant shout from his little sister changes that rather quickly.

"Fox, what on _earth_ is this?" Samantha screeches, hands in fists at her sides. Behind Scully, Mulder wakes with a jerk, sitting up so quickly that Scully is nearly knocked out of the bed. She snatches at the sheets just in time to keep them pulled up over her chest. Samantha, however, isn't even looking at her; she's staring in horror at her brother, who is sitting up bare-chested in bed, sheets pooled around his waist, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly as he struggles to think of something to say.

"Sam," he finally manages. "What are you doing here?" The question seems to upset his sister further.

"What am _I_ doing here?" Her face reddens. "What are _you_ doing here, Fox? What are you doing home, what are you doing in my room...." She looks to Scully, as though imploring her to make this make sense. "What are you doing in bed- _my_ bed- with your lieutenant?!"

"Samantha, it's not the way it looks, I promise," says Mulder, scrabbling around in the bedding, trying to find his nightshirt (which, Scully remembers with dismay, is out of reach on the floor- right next to her own). 

"I'm struggling to see how it could be anything other than what it looks like, Fox, and I'm failing," says Samantha. "In a moment, Father is going to be upstairs and he's going to see you, in bed with another man, _naked_ , so please, explain to me how this isn't what I think it is." 

"Scully's not-" But Mulder cuts himself off, looking to Scully nervously, and she knows exactly what he's thinking and loves him for it: it's not his secret to tell, not even to save face in front of his little sister. She decides, with a sigh, that she can't leave him stranded out on that branch by himself.

"I'm not what you think I am, Samantha," she says heavily, and now Sam's confusion is turned on her.

"What are you talking about?" Samantha asks... and Scully can see the moment that it dawns on the younger girl, the moment that she notices how Scully is clutching the bedsheets against her chest, unlike Mulder, who isn't bothering to cover up anything above the waist at all. "You're... you're a-"

"Yes, I'm a woman," Scully says. "And if you could hand me one of the nightshirts that I believe are on the floor by your feet, I would be very grateful." 

"Mine should be down there, too," mumbles Mulder, his face in his hands. Samantha seems to suddenly become aware that she's staring at both of them, and she bends, grabs the nightshirts, and places them on the bed before turning away, giving them privacy to get covered back up.

"So you're a woman," Samantha continues, still facing away from them. "That still doesn't explain what you're doing _here_." 

"I think what we were doing ought to be perfectly obvious," grumbles Mulder, pulling his nightshirt over his head, and Scully swats at him as Samantha makes a noise of disgust.

"At the _house_ , Fox, at the house," she clarifies. "I'm plenty curious about why you're in my room, of all places, but we'll get to that later. Why are you both here, and not with your regiment?"

"Scully got shot," says Mulder. Samantha gasps and starts to turn back to them, but seems to think better of it and stays facing away. "You can turn back, Sam, we're covered." When she faces them, her earlier shock is replaced by genuine concern.

"Are you all right?" she asks Scully. "Was it bad?"

"It was fairly serious," says Scully, "but I'm all right now. I'll be fully recovered soon."

"The battle where Scully was wounded happened not far from here," says Mulder. "The surgeon who saved her life said that she shouldn't go to a military hospital to convalesce, that she'd either get sick or be discovered immediately."

"And I couldn't go home," Scully interjects. "My mother would never let me leave again."

"So I brought her here," says Mulder. "I put her in your room because it's the most comfortable, and... well, I didn't think that you would mind. You and Scully seemed to get on so well when you met in Fredericksburg."

"I _don't_ mind Lieutenant Scully staying in my room," says Samantha. "What I _do_ mind is the two of you doing...." Her face reddens. " _Whatever_ it is you've been doing in my bed, when there are seven other beds in this house."

"You're absolutely right," says Scully, mentally berating herself for not having thought of this before. "I'm sorry, Samantha. Whatever's going on between your brother and myself, it doesn't belong in your bedroom." Mulder raises his eyebrows at her.

"'Whatever's going on?'" he quotes back at her. "You mean the fact that I intend to marry you, the moment the war has ended?" Samantha's eyes go round with shock.

"You're going to marry her?" she asks. Scully narrows her eyes at Mulder.

"This isn't exactly how I had envisioned breaking the news," she says, "but yes, that's the eventual plan."

"But Sam, no one else can know yet," says Mulder quickly. "Not Mother or Father, not Diana, not _anyone_. Scully risks prison if someone finds out, and at the very least, she'll be sent home." Samantha looks at her brother like he's lost his mind.

"Do you really think I want that?" she asks. "When I know full well that she's probably the only thing keeping you alive out there?" She and Scully share a smile, and Mulder rolls his eyes. "It's just... this means you're not marrying Diana!"

"Keep your voice down, would you?" says Mulder. "The last thing we need right now is for Father to overhear you and start asking questions." He kicks back the covers and stands up, crossing to the door and opening it, poking his head out into the hallway. In the distance, Scully can hear William Mulder speaking loudly, though she can't make out what he's saying. Mulder closes the door and comes back across the room, sinking down into the armchair he's occupied for days. "What are you doing back here, anyway?" 

"Father got a letter," says Samantha, sitting on the edge of the bed as Scully pulls the covers back up over her legs. "From someone here in town. I don't know who, exactly, but whoever it was, they told him that a strange woman and a Union soldier were seen riding up the road to our plantation."

"That would have been my sister," says Scully. "Your brother wrote to her to come down here and take care of me." Mulder nods.

"It was the middle of the night when I brought Scully out here, and she was passed out in the back of a wagon, wearing her uniform," he says. "So it's unlikely anyone would have seen her." He leans back, sighing. "That's lucky, I suppose. Otherwise the gossips in this town would probably have written Father that an entire company of Union soldiers had taken over his plantation, and he would have come back here with a regiment of his own." He looks over at Scully. "I'm sorry about this," he tells her. "I worry that you're not going to get quite as much rest as you need with my parents hovering around." He glances at Samantha. "I assume you're here through Christmas, at least?" Samantha nods.

"Father thinks that it's safe, while both armies have gone into winter quarters," she says. "So he says we'll be here until at least February, maybe March." Mulder groans. "But it could be worse, you know," she continues. "Mr. Spender and Diana didn't come back to Culpeper with us. They're staying in Fredericksburg, at least for now." She can't seem to stop the gleeful smile the blooms across her face. "So you won't have to tell her that you won't be marrying her, at least not yet."

"You're entirely too excited about this," Mulder tells her sternly. "Diana may well be heartbroken. I know that nothing was official, but still... she had hopes for the future, and I'm not exactly looking forward to telling her that none of it is going to happen."

"It will still happen, Fox," says Samantha dismissively. "Just not with you, that's all. She's the adopted daughter of a prominent politician, the only heir to his rather large fortune. She'll have no trouble finding someone else to take her on, even if she _is_ impossible, stuck-up, and rude."

" _Enough_ , Samantha," says Mulder firmly, and she obeys, though she continues to look smug. Scully, for her part, would like to hug her soon-to-be sister-in-law, but settles for shooting her a private grin, which Sam readily returns.

"I'm assuming that it's James that Father is having strong words with downstairs?" Mulder asks Samantha, and she nods.

"He wasn't pleased that James didn't write him the moment you brought Lieutenant Scully here," she says. "And I think he's annoyed to have traveled back here, only to find he's rushed home for nothing because there's no threat, no danger." Mulder snorts in exasperation.

"Would he honestly rather have arrived back here to find the place overrun with Union soldiers?" He shakes his head. "And Mother?" Samantha shrugs, unconcerned.

"Probably making sure that all of the slaves know that she's back and ready to take command of her army of domiciles once more," she says. Heaving another sigh, Mulder stands.

"I should go and get dressed," he says. "Make myself presentable before Father takes me to task for daring to set foot in my own childhood home without his permission." Scully bites her lip, suddenly nervous at the prospect of being discovered in Mr. and Mrs. Mulder's home without their permission.

"Should I get out of bed?" she asks. "I have no idea where my uniform is, and it's probably covered in blood and ruined."

"It is," Mulder confirms. "You'll need a new one when we return to the regiment." He thinks for a moment. "Stay in bed for now," he says. "I know you're not going to like not being able to walk around, but there aren't any clothes here that would fit you, and the ruse is more believable when you're dressed the part."

"I could tailor some of your clothes to fit her," volunteers Samantha. "I'll do it up here, so that Mother and Father don't see me doing it and ask questions." Scully feels a rush of gratitude and affection for the girl.

"Thank you so much, Samantha," she says. Mulder comes back to the bedside and leans over, kissing Scully. He tries to draw it out, and though it breaks her heart to do it, she stops him, pushing him away as gently as she can.

"Best not get in the habit of doing that just now," she advises him. "You can explain away my presence here, but you'd be much harder pressed to explain _that_ , if anyone else catches you at it." Mulder sighs.

"It was nice while it lasted, though, wasn't it?" he asks, and Scully smiles warmly.

"The nicest," she says, and Samantha groans.

"May I remind you two that I'm still right here?" she chastises them sharply. "Fox, go get dressed. I'll stay with Lieutenant Scully." Mulder affectionately ruffles his sister's hair in passing, though she tries in vain to duck. He gathers up his discarded uniform from the armchair where he'd thrown it the night before and leaves. 

As soon as he's closed the door behind him, Samantha turns to Scully, smiling shyly. "I feel a bit strange, calling you Lieutenant Scully now," she admits. Scully laughs.

"I meant it before, in Fredericksburg, that you can call me Daniel," she says. 

"That's not your real name, though, of course," Samantha says.

"No, it's not," Scully agrees. "And when the war is over, you're more than welcome to call me Dana... but I think that would raise a few eyebrows right now, don't you?"

"I suppose so," says Samantha. A wide, gleeful smile breaks out across her face. "You realize you're saving my life, don't you?" she asks. "Or, at least, saving me from a lifetime of having to deal with Diana Fowley as a sister-in-law?" Scully knows that it's petty, and that Mulder wouldn't approve, but still, she can't help but laugh.

"I promise you, Samantha," she says, "I never intended for any of this to happen. I joined the army with no plans to ever reveal my secret to anyone, not even to your brother. It was pure chance that he found out."

"How did he?" asks Samantha, and Scully feels her cheeks flush slightly. Odd, that she should feel embarrassment over something as small as that night, when Samantha has just caught them in a much more delicate situation.

"He came looking for me one night, when most of the men were washing off in a lake after marching all day on a particularly muddy stretch of road. I had gone further away to try and get myself clean, out of sight of the rest of the regiment, and Mulder... well, he came upon me as I was getting out of the water." Samantha's eyes are big as saucers.

"Like David seeing Bathsheba bathing on the roof," she sighs, and Scully laughs.

"Good Lord, let me never get you together with my older sister," she says. "Melissa was going on and on about how romantic the whole thing is." She shakes her head. "And if I recall correctly, things didn't turn out all that well for King David. I'm hoping for a happier ending for us."

The bedroom door is thrown open, and Mulder strides back in, dressed in his uniform again. He tosses a bundle of clothing to Samantha, who catches it.

"Tuck those away somewhere," he tells her. "We'll have Scully try them on tonight, after Mother and Father have gone to bed, and you can pin them up." Samantha nods and crosses to her wardrobe, placing the clothing inside. Seeing the rows of feminine clothing hanging inside, Scully is reminded, again, that this is Samantha's room, not a guest room, and Sam would probably like to have it back.

"Mulder," she says, "is there a different room where I could sleep? I think that we've probably trespassed on your sister's hospitality long enough." Mulder nods his agreement.

"The house has plenty of bedrooms," he says. "I'll have the one next to mine made up for you." He glances at his sister. "And, uh... I'll have fresh sheets put on your bed, as well." Samantha covers her face and groans.

"Please, Fox, I'm quite fond of my bedroom, and I would hate to be put off from sleeping in it ever again." She shakes her head. "Why you had to choose _here_ , of all places, I have no-"

"Shhh," says Mulder suddenly, holding up a hand for quiet. In the silence, Scully hears footsteps on the landing, and a moment later, there's a sharp rap at Samantha's bedroom door. Scully hunches over to keep her nightshirt from following the curve of her chest and pulls the blankets up further, mentally berating herself for not re-binding her breasts while Mulder had been dressing. At least, she reflects, she's lost weight during her recovery, and things are even less noticeable than they had been before.

"Come in," calls Samantha, and the door opens to admit both of Mulder's parents. He stands the moment they enter the room.

"Mother, Father," he says, "It's good to see you both again." Bill Mulder looks from Mulder to Scully, his expression unreadable.

"Lieutenant Scully," he says, finally, "I'm sorry to hear that you've been wounded."

"I'm nearly recovered, Mr. Mulder," Scully says. "And I'm very sorry to have imposed on you like this."

"My understanding," Mr. Mulder says, turning his stern gaze to his son, "is that you were not in any fit shape to dictate your destination when you were brought here, so I don't believe the fault lies with you."

"Bill," says Teena timidly, "I really don't think there's any fault to be found here. This is Fox's home and he's welcome-"

"It was his home, yes," Bill interrupts her. "But I was under the impression, when he left to play soldier for the wrong side, that he's chosen to turn his back on it- and on us. And that impression was soundly reinforced, this summer, when he stormed out of Charles's house in Fredericksburg."

"Father, I had nowhere else to bring him," Mulder pleads. "The battlefield surgeon who treated his wounds said that he was likely to fall prey to disease if he was sent to one of the army hospitals. We were only ten miles from Culpeper when it happened, and I thought-"

"And does he not have family?" Mr. Mulder asks. "Could he not have been sent home on the train? West Chester isn't so far away as to make that an impossibility, is it?" Scully can see the panic in Mulder's eyes from across the room.

"My mother is recovering from a serious illness, Mr. Mulder," she lies quickly, hoping to God that Mulder doesn't look surprised and give her away. "It's why I had to leave so suddenly this summer. I had to go home and arrange for her care, since my father and brothers are still at sea." Mr. Mulder's countenance softens somewhat.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he says. "But still, I ask you, Fox, why did you not send word to me? Why not write to let me know that you and Lieutenant Scully would be here? Why did I have to find out from someone in town, instead of from you?"

"Because letters can be intercepted, Father, and I didn't want any Confederate patrols to find out that a wounded Union officer was here, and take it into their heads to come and take him prisoner." Bill Mulder doesn't seem to have any response to this, and contents himself with simply glowering at his son.

"Bill," says Teena, laying her hand on her husband's arm, "no real harm has been done. Certainly we can be hospitable to Lieutenant Scully while he recovers? It seems the least we can do, after the way that he saved Fox's life last summer." Bill Mulder grunts, but his expression softens the tiniest bit.

"Get him his own room, Fox," he says, finally. "He doesn't need to be in Samantha's room."

"Yes, Sir," Mulder says, and Scully can see his shoulders sag with relief. Bill turns back to Scully.

"Lieutenant Scully," he says, "you're welcome to remain here while you recover, but I must ask that you return to your regiment as soon as you're able. My family and I will not be staying here long, and I do not wish to leave anyone behind when we go." Mulder frowns.

"Why would you leave again so soon?" he asks. "Both armies have gone into winter quarters; there's not going to be a battle raging through the fields anytime soon." Mr. Mulder regards his son in silence for a moment; then, taking his wife's arm, he turns to go.

"Lunch will be served shortly, Fox," is all he says. "I'll have food brought up for Lieutenant Scully, but I expect you to join us." And with that, he and Teena leave.

Mulder, Scully, and Samantha all let out an enormous breath, looking around at each other in relief.

"What's Father talking about?" Mulder asks Samantha. "Why aren't you staying the winter here? Are you going back to Fredericksburg?" Samantha shrugs.

"I've no idea," she says. "It's the first I've heard of it. I thought that we would be here until March, at least." She scrunches up her nose in displeasure. "I _hope_ we're not going back to Fredericksburg. The last thing I want is to spend more time cooped up in a house with Diana when it's too cold and wet outside to even escape for a walk." Mulder rolls his eyes.

"You're the queen of exaggeration, Sam," he says affectionately. He stands, stretching his limbs. "I'm going to go and have your room made up, Scully," he tells her. "And then, apparently, I'm required to eat my lunch in what I'm sure will be a perfectly warm and welcoming atmosphere downstairs in the dining room." Scully smiles in sympathy.

"Eat quickly," she suggests. "Then you can come back upstairs so I can beat you at cards again." He narrows his eyes at her, but he's smiling.

"You're on," he says, and looks to his sister. "How about it, Sam? Want us to teach you how to play poker?" Samantha considers this.

"Well... Mother and Father would be absolutely scandalized at the very notion, so...." She grins at them. "It seems like a perfect idea to me."


	20. Chapter 20

JANUARY 1864  
CULPEPER, VIRGINIA 

 

Initially, Scully is nervous about being forced to spend any more time in Bill Mulder's company after his markedly chilly reception of her presence in his home, but as it turns out, she doesn't have to worry at all. By the time Samantha has finished altering her brother's clothing, Scully emerges from her new quarters to find that Bill is spending all of nearly every day out of the house.

"He has a good deal of important matters to see to, things that require his attention," explains Teena Mulder, the first morning that Scully is able to join them for breakfast downstairs. "Both here in town, and back in Fredericksburg."

"Plotting with Spender, most likely," Mulder mutters under his breath, and his mother frowns at him.

"Your father has a great many responsibilities to see to, Fox," she admonishes him. "Many of which will assure that this house, these fields, and this estate will all still be thriving when the time comes for you to inherit it all. You should be grateful to him, not snide." Mulder lapses into a brooding silence for the remainder of the meal, which, blessedly, concludes not very long after, leaving Mulder, Scully, and Samantha free to escape Teena's dour mood. At Mulder's suggestion, they go to the library, away from the noise and bustle of the rest of the house.

"What do you think that Father is _really_ up to, spending so much time away from home?" asks Samantha, sinking into a plush armchair, as Scully gingerly seats herself on the sofa in front of the window. Mulder takes his place next to her. The temptation to lean up against him, to allow him to put his arm around her, is incredibly strong, nigh on irresistible, but the idea of Teena (or a slave other than James, who might lecture them on propriety but wouldn't tell Bill or Teena) walking in unannounced is enough of a deterrent to keep her sitting upright.

"Honestly, I have no idea," says Mulder. "You're the one who's been living in the same house as him for the past year while I've been gone. You've been living in the same house as him; I would imagine that you would probably have a far better handle on things than I do by now."

"Not really," says Sam. "He's not at home all that often, and when he is, he's shut up in the library or in the parlor with Mr. Spender, or with some of his other cronies." She makes a disgusted face. "There's this one strange man who's been coming around Mr. Spender's house in Fredericksburg an awful lot lately. More than any of the rest of them, he gives me the creeps."

"And Spender doesn't?" asks Mulder.

"Of course he does, but in a different way," says Samantha. "Mr. Spender is always just so... so _cold_. He looks at everything around him like the entire world could burn to the ground right in front of him, and he wouldn't care in the slightest. But this other man...." She shudders. "He looks at me like he might like to cook me up for his evening meal." Mulder frowns, instantly concerned.

"And Father doesn't say anything to him about it?" he asks, and Samantha shakes her head.

"I've only ever seen him at the house in Fredericksburg, at least so far. I think that since it's Mr. Spender's house, Father doesn't think that it's really his place to object to any of the guests that Mr. Spender invites. So I just try to keep myself upstairs, out of sight, or else I go out for a walk or a carriage ride whenever Alex happens to be part of the company." As Samantha names the man, Scully's head snaps up; next to her, Mulder starts in surprise.

"Alex?" he asks. Samantha nods.

"Yes, Alex Krycek. That's his name. I don't know whether he's the son of one of Father's or of Mr. Spender's other friends, but I think that probably he must be, because he's a great deal younger than the rest of their little group." Mulder looks over at Scully, frowning.

"That alleyway conversation that you overheard, when we were staying in Fredericksburg, last summer," he says. "The night when we went to the theater with Diana. Didn't you say that-"

"Yes, the man I overheard talking was named Alex," Scully agrees. "Do you think it could be the same person?"

"I think that it's a fairly remarkable coincidence if it's not," says Mulder. Samantha looks back and forth between them, frowning.

"What are you talking about? What conversation?" she asks. Scully bites her tongue; as strong as her hunch that Diana is involved in something nefarious is, she still doesn't know for certain, and while she might have felt the need to tell Mulder, to put him on his guard, she doesn't feel quite right sharing her suspicions with anyone else- especially not someone who, she thinks, might be even more prejudiced against Diana than she is.

Mulder, however, seems to have no such reservations.

"On the night that Scully and I arrived in Fredericksburg, last July," says Mulder, "when we went to see the performance of 'Macbeth' with Diana, Scully went outside to get some air at intermission and overheard Diana talking in the alleyway with a man named Alex." This information doesn't shock Samantha nearly as much as Scully had expected.

"Yes, Diana knows him," she says. "I've seen them talking together at the house plenty of times while we've been in Fredericksburg. I've always been under the impression that they're friends."

"When I asked her about it," Mulder says, frowning, "she told me that Alex is just a friend of Mr. Spender's, that he had been hoping that Spender would give his son a job at his offices here in Culpeper." Samantha scoffs at this notion disbelievingly. "I take it that wasn't the truth?"

" _I've_ never seen Alex Krycek in anywhere in Culpeper," she says. "And he looks to be about the same age as the two of you and Diana are, so unless Mr. Spender has recently taken to hiring five-year-old children for positions in his offices, I can't see any way that he'd have a child old enough for what Diana told you to be the truth." Mulder looks at Scully, his expression troubled.

"There's always a chance that it could have been a different Alex," she offers weakly, but Mulder shakes his head, his expression sad. Scully doesn't feel any of the sense of victory that she had imagined she would feel if she ever managed to successfully convince Mulder that Diana is not quite who he thinks she is; rather, she feels an immense sorrow at the betrayal he must be feeling right now.

"I might believe that, Scully, except that my last night at Spender's house, the night before I left to return to the regiment-" He stops speaking suddenly and glances hesitantly over at Samantha, who is listening to this exchange with rapt attention. "Well... you remember how we fought, when we came home from the theater that first evening, don't you?" Scully nods; how could she possibly forget? "You made... an accusation. You suggested that Diana might try to do something, and I got angry and offended and I shouted at you." Scully swallows hard at the memory of his fury, at the cold way that he had looked at her when she had stated her belief that Diana was duplicitous, that she might be planning on trying to seduce information out of him and pass it on to her father.

"I remember," she says. Mulder bites his lip and glances over at Samantha again, looking nervous.

"Well... I think that maybe she did try to do exactly what you warned me that she would," he says, and Scully's heart sinks, her stomach contracting sickeningly. She realizes, suddenly, that she had never asked Mulder, when he had returned to the regiment at the end of his furlough, what else had taken place between him and Diana. Afraid of making him angry again, she had decided to let it go, had chosen to trust in his judgement in the matter. He, in turn, had volunteered no further information... and after that night in the woods, after he had taught her to hit a baseball and had kissed her, Diana had been the furthest thing from both of their minds.

Scully thinks of how Mulder had told her, the morning that they had woken up in bed together, the morning they had made love, that he had never done that before, the same as her. The idea that he might have been lying about that- or that he might have been couching his declaration in some sort of technicality- is devastating.

Scully's expression must be betraying the worries that are coursing through her mind, because Mulder suddenly reaches out and takes her hand in his, squeezing it tightly before reluctantly letting go.

"She tried, Scully, she _tried!_ " he promises her earnestly. "She didn't succeed, and that was mostly because your accusations had put me on my guard, that night when we fought." Scully only needs to look at his face to know that he's telling her the truth. Nodding, she relaxes, letting out a long breath as the painful clenching in her gut releases.

"You never told me any of that," she says, trying to keep the accusation out of her voice.

"I know," Mulder says. "And I'm sorry about that. I guess I still didn't want to believe that you could be right, that someone who had been close to me might try to use me that way." He smiles at her sheepishly. "That will teach me to not listen to you."

"So...." Samantha frowns deeply. "You're saying that I may have been perfectly justified in disliking Diana all along? That she really might _not_ have had your best interests at heart after all?" Scully can't help it; she laughs. Mulder rolls his eyes.

"Don't pretend as though you disliked her because she's been trying to use me, Samantha," he admonishes. "Your problem with her has always been that she treats you more like a little sister than a friend or an equal." Samantha looks hurt at this.

"No, Fox, _you_ treat me like a little sister," she says. "Diana has always treated me like a nuisance, like something she's forced to put up with. Like I'm just an unpleasant side effect of her being able to have you in her life. And that's more than enough reason for me to dislike her, even if you could never see it." Mulder looks as though he's ready to fire back an angry retort, but Scully reaches out and places a gentle hand on his arm.

"She has a point, Mulder," she says quietly. "There were always friends of my sister and of my brothers running around our house when we were growing up, and while they all teased me...." She glances at Samantha sympathetically. "It was all meant in good fun. None of them ever spoke to me the way that I heard Diana speaking to your sister last summer."

Mulder looks back and forth between Scully and Samantha. "I... I'm sorry, Sam," he says. "I guess I just never thought that Diana ever meant any of it to be harmful... I just always thought that that was just-"

"Just the way that Diana is," says Samantha, nodding. "I know. I'll bet that you gave Lieutenant Scully the same excuse for why she was so cold to her-"

" _Him_ ," hisses Mulder, glancing at the library door.

"To _him_ ," Samantha corrects herself. "Last summer in Fredericksburg."

"I did," says Mulder heavily. "And I'm sorry. To both of you. To you, Sam, for never telling Diana to be kinder to you. And to you, Scully, for not taking what you had to say more seriously. I've been incredibly blind."

"But you must have taken my warnings to heart at least a little bit," Scully consoles him. "Otherwise you would have-" She stops and glances over at Samantha. "Otherwise things might have turned out very differently."

"I suppose so," says Mulder, then lapses into silence again, gazing out of the window at the cold and empty grounds.

"So what do we do, then?" asks Samantha, and Mulder frowns.

"About what?" he asks.

"About Diana," says Samantha. "Now that we know that she and Mr. Spender are up to something. Father, too."

"We don't do anything, Sam," says Mulder with a sigh. "I'll stay on my guard and keep on making certain that any letters I send back home don't contain any information that could be considered valuable." Samantha is aghast.

"But Fox, they could be plotting to harm you!" she protests.

"They're not plotting to harm _me_ , specifically, Sam," he says. "They're plotting against the Union. Which is to be expected; this is a war, after all, and Father has always been fiercely loyal to Virginia above all else." He looks thoughtful. "Spender, though... I think he's always been loyal to whoever can benefit him the most. He's not from Virginia; he's not even a Southerner." He shakes his head. "Either way, if I confront Father and accuse him of engaging in espionage to help the Confederates win the war, he's likely to laugh in my face and ask me what else I could possibly have expected him to do."

"But if he's plotting to defeat the Union, then he's plotting to harm you just by association," argues Samantha.

"He's not going to see it that way," says Mulder.

"I have to agree with your brother, Samantha," says Scully quietly. "If your father really is doing what we suspect, then I honestly think that the safest thing for you to do would be to pretend you have no idea what's going on."

"And stay as far away as you possibly can from this Alex Krycek, whoever he is," says Mulder darkly. "And not just him, either. Anyone who looks at you in a way that makes you feel uncomfortable, or unsafe, you just steer clear of them, all right?" Samantha is clearly troubled by this.

"I can't just sit by and let you get hurt, Fox," she protests, and Mulder laughs. He immediately sobers when Samantha looks hurt, though, leaning forward on the sofa and smiling kindly at her.

"Sam... I'm fighting in a war," he reminds her gently. "There are quite literally thousands of men out there trying to hurt me."

"But of course he's going to do everything that he can to keep any of them from succeeding," interjects Scully quickly when Samantha's face crumples even further. "And I want you to know that I'm going to do all that _I_ can, as well. I promise you that."

"The point is, Samantha," says Mulder, "that from Father's perspective, he's only doing his duty as a patriot, while I'm the one who's betrayed the family. I think...." He sighs, looking back out the window. "I think that if Father hadn't yet truly given up on me, hadn't written me out of the family, when I first ran away from home to join the Union army... he definitely did when I walked out of Spender's house last summer. In all honesty, I'm surprised that he hasn't yet called called for a Confederate patrol to take Scully and me off to a prisoner of war camp."

"He would never do that, Fox," says Samantha, shocked. Mulder shrugs.

"Maybe he would, and maybe he wouldn't," he replies. "I don't really know. And the longer that Scully and I stay here, the more opportunity he has to decide that it could look bad for him to have two Union officers taking shelter in his family home. That's why I want Scully and me to return to our regiment the moment sh- he is healthy enough." Scully can tell that Samantha wants to keep arguing.

"He's right," she says gently. "The best thing that you can do right now is to keep _yourself_ safe." She grins at Mulder. "And in the meantime, I'll do my best to take care of this one for you."

"Can I at least tell you anything that I manage to overhear?" Samantha asks. "In my letters, when I write to you, I mean. I can word them so that anyone else reading them won't have any idea what I'm talking about, but you'll be able to figure it out, because you'll know what to look for." Mulder glances over at Scully, his expression dubious.

"It's a big risk for you to take, Sam," he says. "And there's honestly not that much that I could do with the information, even if you _could_ figure out what Father and Spender are up to. I don't want you to get caught listening at closed doors."

"I won't, Fox, I promise," Samantha pleads. "I just... I can't sit here and do needlepoint while you're out there risking your life for a cause that I believe in every bit as much as you do. If I had been born a boy, I would have run away from home to fight for the Union right by your side, you know that I would... but I can't. So please just let me do whatever I can, all right?" Mulder sighs.

"All right, Samantha," he relents. "Anything that you might happen to overhear- without going out of your way _one single bit_ \- or anything you see that strikes you as being suspicious, you can write to me about it. But absolutely no sneaking around, no hiding in wardrobes or behind sofas or under tables, no holding an empty water glass to the library wall when Father and his friends are in here, talking." Scully can see Samantha carefully thinking all of this over, trying to find a possible loophole in her brother's list of forbidden activities. Mulder must be able to see it, too, because he continues, "No doing anything at all that could possibly draw attention to yourself. Promise me, Samantha, all right?"

"All right, all right, I promise, Fox," Samantha agrees at last, but she's clearly not at all happy about it. "But only if _you_ promise me to keep on being careful, to keep on not taking any unnecessary risks when you're out there on the battlefield with your regiment." Mulder smiles.

"I promise, Sam. Scully and I are both coming home safe from this war, when it's over." He grins over at Scully. "And wherever we are, you'll always be welcome, too."


	21. Chapter 21

FERBRUARY 1864  
NEAR WASHINGTON, D.C.

 

Mulder keeps a close eye on Scully for the entire ride back to the Army of the Potomac's winter quarters. She doesn't _seem_ uncomfortable, and by the time they had decided it was time to leave Culpeper she had been more than capable of spending a full day on her feet without significant pain... but Mulder also knows that she's not likely to be terribly forthcoming if the ride is tiring her.

"I'm _fine_ , Mulder," she sighs at him when she catches him watching her worriedly yet again. "I've been well enough to return to camp for over a week now. You're behaving as though I'm still on Death's door."

"Only because I still can't forget the way you looked when you were _actually_ at Death's door, not so long ago," he says. "So you'll forgive me if I'm a bit more attentive to your health than usual for a little while."

"Oh, will I?" she grumbles, pulling her overcoat tighter around her narrow shoulders. She's still wearing clothing taken from Mulder's own wardrobe, and while Samantha had been able to tailor most of it to fit her, there had not been time to alter the borrowed winter coat, and it's forever slipping off. One of their first stops, when they return to camp, will have to be to the quartermaster, so that Scully can be outfitted with a completely new uniform.

They'll also need to stop and speak to Colonel Skinner, Mulder supposes. Scully still has one extremely important question for their commander, and she's likely not going to want to wait any longer than necessary to get an answer.

But then... at the end of the day... there will be their tent, their shared cot, and the first opportunity that Mulder has had to hold Scully close since his family's sudden arrival at the plantation in December. He had tried, several times, to sneak into her bedroom late at night, after everyone else had been asleep, but she had sent him back to his own room each and every time, too afraid of being discovered to permit him to stay with her.

Tonight, though, there won't be any reason for them not to sleep nestled close together, fitting their bodies one against the other, conserving body heat under their meager blankets. Just the thought is enough for Mulder to feel warmer already.

First, however, he has to get them both back to camp, and Scully, in spite of her best efforts to hide it, is beginning to look weary. It's the first time she's been on horseback since being shot, excepting the ride to the surgeon's immediately after being wounded, which she had endured in semi-conscious agony. Mulder says nothing, but he can't help urging his own horse a little faster, knowing that Scully will keep up. The last thing he wants is to not get there before nightfall, to be forced to sleep out in the open tonight.

The winter sun is dipping low in the sky by the time they make their way past the picket lines and guards and into the army's winter camp. Unlike the field encampments Mulder and Scully have grown used to, this place bears the unmistakable marks of being a more long-term establishment. The grass between the tents has been worn down to dirt, and temporary wooden structures have been erected for cooking, eating, and for seeking medical attention. Proper latrines have been dug- thankfully, a good distance from the rest of the camp. The army engineers have, blessedly, learned their lesson from past bouts of typhus and dysentery.

It's not difficult to locate the Third Corps, and, by extension, Colonel Skinner. He's being housed, not in a tent, but in a small wooden hut, in deference to his rank. The little building has clearly been hastily constructed, but nevertheless, it's still far warmer than a canvas tent could ever hope to be.

Skinner's aide de camp announces them, and in short order, they're waved inside to find their commander looking no worse for wear- and unmistakably glad to see them both.

"I take it you've recovered, Lieutenant Scully?" he asks, waving off their salutes. Scully nods.

"Yes, Sir," she says. "I'm ready to return to active duty." Skinner nods.

"There won't be much to the 'active' part of it for a little while yet," he says. "But still, that's good to hear. Be sure that you don't overexert yourself in the daily drills, though. I don't want you out of commission again." He glances at Mulder. "Not least because your colonel is useless when you're not around." Mulder ducks his head sheepishly, but doesn't bother to contradict Skinner; it is, after all, the truth.

"Sir," says Scully, "I did have one question for you, if it's not too imprudent of me to ask. I was wondering if you could tell me-"

"You want to know how I figured out your little secret," interrupts Skinner. Scully nods.

"Yes, Sir," she says. "I need to know- if you don't mind telling me- because if I'm doing something, without realizing it, to give myself away, then I need to stop whatever it is immediately." Skinner nods shortly. He walks past Scully, opening the door of his hut and addressing his aide de camp.

"Thomas, Son, I need you to run to the quartermaster," he says. "Lieutenant Scully is going to require a complete uniform, including an overcoat. Bring back the smallest size they have available." Lieutenant Thomas nods, salutes, and disappears between the surrounding tents. Skinner closes the door and turns back to Mulder and Scully. "Don't want to risk anyone overhearing," he explains. "And I'm sure you actually do need a new uniform. Am I right?

"Yes, Sir," agrees Scully. "Thank you." Skinner sinks down to sit on his cot and looks up at Mulder and Scully thoughtfully.

"This past summer," he says, "Days before Gettysburg, not long before I handed off command of the Eighty-Third Pennsylvania to you, Mulder, a man- a civilian- arrived at my headquarters. He was looking for a soldier by the name of Scully, and he had heard that there was a Scully somewhere in the Third Brigade, and possibly in my regiment." Next to Mulder, Scully goes stiff.

"Did he give you his name, Sir?" she asks.

"Waterston," says Skinner. "Dr. Daniel Waterston. A civilian, at the moment, but he'd treated soldiers for the Army of the Tennessee in the past. He explained to me that if the Scully in my brigade was, indeed, the one he was looking for, then I would be in for a bit of a surprise if I were to inspect him a bit more closely." Scully closes her eyes and draws a deep breath, then glances over at Mulder.

"So as of last summer, he hadn't given up yet," she says. "That surprises me, actually. I thought that once he knew what I'd done, he would write me off as a lost cause." She turns back to Skinner. "Dr. Waterston was the man my parents wanted me to marry," she explains. "Getting away from him was a large part of the reason why I... why I made the choices that I made."

"I surmised as much from speaking with him," says Skinner. "He told me that the man he was looking for wasn't actually a man at all, and that the family of the young woman had asked him to bring her home before she could come to any further harm." He raises his eyebrows at Scully. "I told him that the only Scully in my brigade was nearly six feet tall with a beard thick enough to house a family of sparrows for the winter." Mulder barks out a surprised laugh, and Skinner finally cracks a smile. "I didn't like the look of the man. I didn't trust his intentions and I wanted him gone as quickly as possible. I never saw him again after that... but the next time I saw you, Lieutenant Scully, I took a closer look, and I knew." Scully relaxes somewhat.

"So it's not because I've made myself obvious?" she asks, and Skinner shakes his head.

"Most of the other men have probably drawn the same conclusions that I had come to, before Dr. Waterston's visit," he says. "Until then, I had assumed that you were very young, likely a year or two younger than eighteen- but still, a boy. And no one was about to blow the whistle on you, myself included; you were far too competent a soldier for that. The regiment couldn't stand to lose you."

"That was what I had thought, as well," admits Mulder, grinning, thinking back to the many mental conversations he'd had with himself, trying to decide if he was an irresponsible captain for not turning in a soldier who was clearly not old enough to be fighting. Skinner nods.

"Like I've said, most of the men have probably assumed the same," he says. "So keep on doing what you've been doing, Scully, and you shouldn't have a problem. You certainly won't have one from me." Scully smiles gratefully.

"Thank you, Sir," she says. "Your confidence in me means a great deal."

"It's been well-earned," Skinner tells her, and her face flushes slightly.

There's a sharp rap on the door, and Skinner stands and opens it to reveal Lieutenant Thomas, holding a stack of folded clothing, a blue cap resting on top.

"Here you are, Sir," he says, passing the clothing to Skinner, who immediately hands it to Scully.

"Thank you, Lieutenant Thomas," she says. "And thank you, Colonel Skinner. We should get out of your hair now." Skinner nods and returns their salute, and moments later, Mulder and Scully are back out in the cold, winding their way through the tents to find their own regiment.

The return of both their colonel and of his aide draws a cheer from the men sitting around the campfires, trying to keep warm, and it's not long before Mulder and Scully are surrounded. Everyone wants to shake Scully's hand and pound her on the back, and Mulder has difficulty restraining himself from standing between her and the men eager to celebrate her return.

"All right, all right, everyone, that's enough," he finally calls out. "We've been riding all day and we're exhausted. We need to get our supper and get some rest." The men reluctantly disperse, and Mulder and Scully are free to make their way to their tent. Once inside, Scully sinks down onto the cot with a groan, closing her eyes.

"I know we should eat," she sighs, "but I could absolutely fall asleep right this second." Mulder chuckles.

"Since when can you _not_ just fall asleep at any second?" he asks, and Scully swats a lazy hand in his direction, missing him by over a foot. "You should at least get your new uniform on," he urges. "It's wool; it will be much warmer than what you're wearing."

"Admit it, you just want me to take my clothes off," Scully says, opening one eye a slit to peer up at him.

"I've got no trouble admitting that that's part of it," he says, "but it's _also_ true that you'll be warmer, isn't it?" Scully heaves a sigh and stands. Mulder immediately flops down onto the cot, taking her place, and watches attentively as she strips off her overcoat, suit jacket, and trousers. She glances at him shyly as she starts unbuttoning her cotton underclothes, preparing to exchange them for wool, and he smiles encouragingly at her.

"You're enjoying this far too much," she says accusingly, and his smile widens to a teasing grin.

"Oh, I don't think that would ever be possible," he tells her. She shakes her head at him, blushing deep crimson, which only inflates Mulder's arousal further. His eyes travel over every inch of ivory skin as she reveals it, and it takes all of his self-control to keep his hands lying by his sides on the cot, to keep from reaching for her. _Later_ , he tells himself firmly. _You will be here with her every night. Right now, she needs a hot supper more than she needs your hands all over her._

She doesn't, sadly, unbind her breasts, but Mulder is treated to the sublime sight of the rest of her body, filled out somewhat after two months resting and of eating proper food. He sighs regrettably as she covers herself, bit by bit, with the new, clean uniform, which is, thankfully, only slightly big on her. She places the blue cap atop her head, over the freshly-shorn red locks that Mulder had had James trim right before they had left the plantation. 

When she turns back to him, she's every inch the smart, capable soldier he had met nearly a year ago, and his heart is suddenly full of so much love and affection that he can't speak. He sits up and reaches out to her, taking her hand and pulling her over to stand between his knees. She smiles softly down at him, cupping his face in her hands as he holds her lightly by the hips, and bending down, she kisses his forehead.

"I'm hungry, Mulder," she tells him. "Let's go find something to eat."

From the regimental cooks, they receive strong coffee, bacon, some dubious-looking vegetables, and, of course, hardtack. As they take their seats around a campfire, Scully holds up her square of grey and unappetizing bread and heaves a sigh.

"Well, here we are again," she says, dunking the hardtack into her cup of coffee. "Back to a luxurious life of comfortable leisure and gourmet cooking." Mulder laughs.

"There are drawbacks, to be sure," he agrees. "But there are one or two positive aspects to being back at camp, if you know where to look for them." She raises her eyebrows at him, the piece of softened bread pausing halfway to her mouth.

"Oh?" she asks. "And what might those be?"

"Nothing I can mention out here," he says lightly, and Scully flushes, immediately busying herself with eating her supper. 

As they're finishing up, Private Jorgensen ambles up, cradling his own coffee close to his chest.

"Heard you was back," he says to Scully. "Fit and healthy again, are you?" Scully nods.

"Fit and healthy and ready to get back to it," she affirms. Jorgensen sinks down to sit next to her, patting her on the back with his free hand.

"Good man," he says. "That one over there," he jerks his chin at Mulder, "he didn't know his ass from his elbow with you gone." Scully laughs.

"So I've heard," she says.

"I wasn't _that_ terrible," Mulder protests. "Distracted, maybe, but I didn't completely lose my head."

"No, just the part of it that makes all the good decisions," says Jorgensen, but there's no malice in his voice. "We stopped playing poker with him after a few days because we felt guilty, takin' all his money every night."

"Complete exaggeration," mutters Mulder over Scully's laughter, ducking his head and concentrating on his bacon. "I chose to stop playing because I had other things to do that were more important."

"Whatever you say, Colonel," chuckles Jorgensen. "One way or another, Scully, it's good to have you back with us."

With their pitiful excuse for a meal finished, Mulder and Scully are finally free to retire to their tent, the day's long ride serving as a useful excuse for their heading to bed so much earlier than the rest of the regiment. In truth, Mulder is somewhat overwhelmed, suddenly being surrounded by so many people after months of only Scully's and Samantha's company, and he's looking forward to a night's respite from all of the chatter.

Mulder has spent the entire day reminding himself that Scully is likely to be exhausted, and quite possibly sore, after the day's ride, and he had promised himself that when the time came for sleep, he would be a gentleman. He had sworn that he would keep his hands to himself, that he would hold her close and keep her warm, certainly, but things would stop there.

That resolution is in immediate danger the moment they're lying side-by-side on their cot, covered with both of their blankets (plus the quilt that Mulder had packed from home), their bodies pressed together. It starts with a gentle goodnight kiss, but the merest touch of her lips to his ignites something in him, and in spite of his best intentions, he feels himself respond immediately.

Scully feels it, as well, and as the kiss ends, she glances down between him at where he's pressing against her, then looks back up, meeting his eyes as she bites her lower lip enticingly.

"Perhaps we're not quite ready to sleep after all?" she suggests playfully, teasing the back of his scalp with her fingertips.

"You _should_ sleep," he protests, but his heart's not in it. "It's been a long day, a long... riiiiiiiide... ohhhh...." His voice trails of into a gasp as her hand wanders down between them, cupping him through his undergarments. She kisses him again, and just like that, the last of his resolve is gone.

Undressing her, he discovers, is a far more sensual experience than simply watching her pull off a nightshirt, even if the clothing he's removing is decidedly male. His mind dances ahead to days to come, when he'll be peeling dresses, corsets, and chemises off of her instead, when her hair will have grown long, a glorious tumult of red silk to run between his fingers.

As she is, she's still the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, especially now, cheeks flushed with excitement, intent in her task of getting him naked, as well. When the last of their clothing has been discarded, he runs his hands worshipfully over her, his fingers pausing as they reach her breasts. He kisses them, burying his face in them, feeling the oddly rough skin lined with indentations left there by her bindings. That something so amazing and lovely should spend so much time completely concealed seems like a crime to him, and he resolves that, in the future, he will encourage her to flaunt her figure as much as she likes, modesty be damned. If she doesn't want to, she doesn't have to, but her body is a work of art, a fact that's only made more obvious to him the more time she has to spend hiding it away.

"You're spending an awful lot of time on those," she observes breathlessly, smiling down at him as he suckles first at one nipple, then at the other.

"I'm only giving them all of the worship that's due to something so exquisite," he tells her, and she laughs. She pulls at his shoulders until they're lying face-to-face and kisses him, sliding a leg up and over his hip.

Like the first time, it doesn't last long, and he's very aware, when he's finished, that he's left her hanging. He tries to puzzle out, as he's gently wiping off her stomach with his handkerchief, how he might be able to service her with his mouth, the way that he had before, but the logistics of managing that on this tiny cot are daunting, and he's not about to suggest they lie on the cold, damp ground. Scully, blessedly, seems to understand his dilemma perfectly.

"Here, like this," she says, taking his hand and pulling it down between her legs. She guides his fingers to her clitoris, and shows him how to touch her, moving his first two fingers in a delicate circular motion around her. Once he's got it, once he's applying just the right amount of pressure and moving at a speed she likes, she leaves him to it, cupping his face with both hands and kissing him fiercely.

He takes note of anything that quickens her breathing, anything that makes her gasp or squirm, and repeats it, keeping his eyes open while they kiss, watching her get closer. "Harder," she whispers in his ear, a minute later, and he obliges, and soon, she's writhing on the cot next to him, her fingers gripping his shoulders tightly, pressing her lips tightly to his so that her cries of ecstasy are lost down his throat.

They lie awake in each other's arms long enough for their bodies to cool down, long enough for the chill of the February night to make itself known once more. Sighing regretfully, they each wriggle back into their woolen undergarments, shuddering at the coolness the cloth holds after being discarded on the ground. 

Fully covered once more, they curl against one another on the cot, their blankets pulled over them, insulating them against the cold of the outside world. Scully rolls onto her side, facing away from Mulder, who frames her body with his, her smaller curves complementing his larger angles perfectly.

"Promise me," he murmurs in her ear, as he finally begins to feel sleepy, "that even after we're married, even after we're not being forced up against each other sheerly because of lack of space, even if our marriage bed is the size of the state of Maryland, you and I will still sleep like this." She snuggles closer to him.

"I think that's probably an arrangement that I can live with."


	22. Chapter 22

MARCH 1864  
NEAR WASHINGTON, D.C.

 

The daily routine in the Army of the Potomac's winter quarters is staggeringly repetitive. Every day begins with the same breakfast, then drills, then a lunch of coffee and hardtack, then a long afternoon of nothing at all. Supper is eaten shortly after sundown... and after that, there's nothing but several more empty hours until it's time to sleep. With no set activities planned to occupy their time, the men are left to come up with their own entertainment. 

Those who have brought musical instruments from home form makeshift bands and give performances and fireside sing-alongs, which Mulder enjoys. He doesn't play an instrument himself, or sing, but he likes to sit by the fire and listen, dreaming ahead to the days after the war, when he and Scully will not longer have to hide. There will be dances, he's sure, evenings in ballrooms where they'll wear their nicest clothes and spend hours whirling around the dance floor in each other's arms. It's something to look forward to, something to daydream about to while away the cold and tedious winter afternoons when Scully is off somewhere else.

They don't, at her insistence, spend every waking moment together. Scully thinks that it would draw undue attention if she quite literally never left his side. Out in the field, it's all right, expected, even, that she would constantly shadow him. But here, where his needs are few and far in between, it would look odd for them to be together all day and all night. Scully spends some of her time with other men in the regiment almost every day, though she always returns to their shared cot in the evening.

Sometimes they keep company with Colonel Skinner, either around a fire or in the relative privacy of his hut. It's something of a relief to be within those four unsteady walls, away from everyone else, in a place where a slip of the tongue won't mean disaster for Scully. They're still extremely reserved in Skinner's presence- they haven't, of course, disclosed the true nature of their relationship- but just being around someone else who knows the truth is strangely relaxing.

Other than time with Scully, Samantha's regular letters are what Mulder looks forward to the most. She writes him at least once a week, and as promised, her letters are full of odd, cryptic comments. Some of them, Mulder can decipher; others are a complete mystery. "There are far too many grouchy old crows flapping around, and I can't get a moment's rest," she writes, in one letter, which Mulder takes to mean that there have been many well-attended meetings at the house. But when she tells him that it's much too cold outside for her to air out her bedsheets, he has absolutely no idea what she's talking about.

"Is there a chance that she really _is_ talking about bedsheets?" asks Scully, puzzling over the letter in the privacy of their tent. They're curled up under their blankets, belly to back, keeping warm, but not really ready for sleep just yet.

"I doubt it," says Mulder. "It's not as though Sam would ever be the one airing out her own bedding, regardless of the weather." He sighs and cuddles closer to Scully, burying his nose in her neck. "I'm sure it's a message; I just have no clue what she's trying to tell me, and it's not as though I can ask her for clarification."

Occasionally, Samantha writes something that Mulder finds truly concerning. Her first letter in March is so loaded down with bizarre phrases that Mulder can barely understand any of it.

"I'm almost tempted to ride to Culpeper and make sure that she's okay," he murmurs to Scully and Skinner as they drink coffee in Skinner's hut. 

"I'll grant you a few days' leave, if you're truly worried about her," offers Skinner, and Mulder feels a rush of affection for his commander. 

"I appreciate that," he says. "The only thing stopping me is that I have no idea what I would tell my parents when they asked what I'm doing there."

"Your family would honestly ask you to give them a reason for your visiting?" asks Skinner. "They wouldn't be even a little bit glad to see you?"

"The only thing stopping my father from throwing Scully and me out in December was that Scully was still recovering, and he felt that by letting her finish convalescing there, he was repaying the debt of Scully saving my life at Gettysburg." Skinner is even more puzzled.

"He's grateful to Scully for saving you," he says, "and yet he doesn't want you to set foot in his house." Skinner shakes his head. "That makes absolutely no sense, Mulder."

"Oh, believe me, I'm aware," Mulder replies, smiling grimly. 

"I think it's perfectly understandable that he wouldn't want his only son to die," puts in Scully reasonably. "He's angry, and he feels as though you've turned away from the family, but that doesn't automatically mean that he wants you dead."

"Right. He just doesn't want to see my face ever again," says Mulder, chuckling humorlessly. Scully reaches over and takes his hand, squeezing it gently. She lets go when Skinner raises his eyebrows.

"I think that one day, he'll get past it, Mulder," she tells him. "I really do. The war isn't going to last forever. When it's over, when we've won, we'll have one country again, without slavery. The disagreement over owning slaves will be a moot point, because it will no longer be an option. What's he going to do when the time comes to hand over the running of his plantation to the next generation? Is he really going to jeopardize the future of everything he's built over an argument that's become obsolete?"

"He could always hand everything over to whoever Samantha marries," counters Mulder. 

"Would he really risk everything on someone he doesn't know well, when you've told me yourself how he's been preparing you to take over since you were a child?" Mulder shrugs.

"I suppose we'll find out when the war is over," he sighs.

There's a sudden commotion outside, and a sharp rap on the door of the hut.

"Enter," calls Skinner, and Lieutenant Thomas pokes his head inside.

"Colonel Skinner, Sir, the pickets just brought two civilians into camp," he says. "A man and a woman. They're looking for Colonel Mulder." Mulder gets to his feet swiftly, as do Scully and Skinner.

"Your parents, do you think?" Scully asks Mulder. "Or your father and Samantha, maybe?" Mulder sets his jaw as all three of them file out of Skinner's hut.

"I doubt it," he says. "My mother doesn't ride unless she absolutely has to, and there's no way my parents would allow Samantha within ten miles of a military encampment." Scully looks troubled.

"But that leaves-"

"I know," he says shortly. "Though what she's doing here, I can't imagine." Lieutenant Thomas beckons for them to follow him, and minutes later, they arrive at the western entrance to the camp... and find Charles Spender and Diana Fowley waiting for them, surrounded by the soldiers who had brought them in, who are all looking at them suspiciously. Diana turns as they approach and catches sight of Mulder.

"Fox!" she calls, an enormous smile taking over her face. Mulder can almost sense Scully stiffening beside him. "Thank goodness you're here!"

"What are you doing here, Diana?" Mulder asks as he reaches her. She reaches out and clasps his hand in both of hers.

"We need to speak with you immediately, Fox," she tells him. 

"What about?" he asks. "Is my family all right? Has something happened to Samantha?"

"Oh, no, nothing like that!" Diana assures him.

"Then what is it?" Behind Diana, Spender glances around at their very interested audience.

"Perhaps there's someplace where we might speak in private?" he suggests. Mulder turns to Colonel Skinner, who nods shortly.

"You men, return to your posts," he tells the soldiers from the picket line, who salute him and leave. "The rest of you can follow me." He turns on his heel and strides off between the tents, Lieutenant Thomas at his side, and Mulder, Scully, Spender, and Diana following closely behind. 

Skinner stops in front of the large tent used by the cooks preparing the day's meals, left empty this late in the evening.

"Please let me know if you require my assistance," he tells Mulder. "When you're through, Lieutenant Thomas will send for the pickets to escort them out of the encampment."

"Thank you, Sir," says Mulder. Spender and Diana duck into the tent, and he and Scully follow.

Once inside, Diana frowns distrustfully at Scully, who returns her gaze levelly.

"Fox, Father and I would really prefer to speak with you _alone_ ," she says. "Lieutenant Scully can wait outside, can't he?"

"Scully can stay here with me," Mulder says firmly.

"I'm afraid we must insist," says Spender. Mulder is about to continue protesting when Scully lays a gentle hand on his arm.

"It's fine," she tells him. "I'll be right outside with Lieutenant Thomas when you're done." He's reluctant to let her go, but she leaves before he can continue arguing. Mulder turns back to Spender and Diana, anxious to get whatever this is over with and get them out of here.

"What's this all about?" he demands. "What are you doing here?" Spender and Diana exchange glances before Diana approaches him. It takes every ounce of self-control that Mulder possesses to keep from stepping back.

"Fox," says Diana, "something terrible has happened, and we need your help." Mulder says nothing; unmoving, he waits, wondering what, exactly, she expects from him this time. "There have been accusations made against me- preposterous accusations, anyone who knows me would know immediately that they're nothing more than disgusting slander- and while you, of course, would never believe a word of it, Father has heard that there are plans afoot for my arrest." Mulder raises his eyebrows.

"Who would want to arrest you, Diana?" he asks. 

"The Union Army, of course," she says. "I'm certain it's nothing more than a ploy to get to Father, to discredit him in front of all of his connections and to make sure that he's shut out of politics for good, if the war doesn't go our way." Mulder crosses his arms over his chest and wonders: how should he play this? He's relatively certain what she's about to tell him. Should he act surprised, or is this a perfect opportunity to tell her that he already knows, and be rid of her for good?

"You see, Fox," Diana says, stepping closer still, "We've recently found out about a vicious rumor that's been circulating about me. I don't know for sure who started it, but...." She bites her lip. "Well, I don't know exactly how to tell you this, Fox, and it's why we wanted your Lieutenant Scully to leave us to speak without him... but we strongly suspect that _he_ was the one to begin the rumor, this past summer when he eavesdropped on me outside of the theater." Mulder raises his eyebrows as though this is all mildly interesting.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" demands Spender, glowering at him. "Or have you, too, already been taken in by this young man and his penchant for slander?"

"Well, for one thing," says Mulder, "I have my doubts as to whether or not Lieutenant Scully is responsible for anything except doing his duty by alerting me to something that he found suspicious. It's part of his job to watch out for me, but I don't believe that he's ever shared what he overheard with anyone else." Diana opens her mouth to argue, but Spender cuts her off.

"Regardless of who's responsible for starting the rumor, the fact remains that my daughter is now in danger of being arrested and thrown in jail," he says. "You, however, are in an excellent position to put a stop to it."

"What could you possibly expect me to do?" Mulder asks. "Go to whomever is planning on making the arrest and tell them they've got it all wrong? Testify in her favor in court? Demand to General Grant that her name be cleared?" He shakes his head. "You overestimate my influence, if that's the case."

"No, that's not what she needs from you," Spender says. "What we need is for you to make good on your promise to her." _Ah_ , thinks Mulder, _I see where this is going now._

"What promise would that be?" he asks, feigning polite confusion. He knows exactly what Spender means, but for some reason, he wants to hear Diana say it out loud.

"Don't be deliberately obtuse, Boy," barks Spender. "You know exactly what I mean."

"No, I'm afraid that I don't," Mulder says. He turns to Diana. "Would you care to explain it to me?"

"I need you to do what we've always planned to do as soon as we were old enough, Fox," she says. "I need you to marry me, of course." 

Mulder reflects, for a moment, on just how much things can change in such a short amount of time. A year ago, he would have readily, even joyfully agreed to Diana's proposition without batting an eye. Now... he can't think of anything he wants to do less.

"I see," he says.

"You'd be making a public statement," Diana continues. "No Union officer would ever marry a woman who could possibly have been spying on the very army he's fighting for, would he?"

"No, I suppose he wouldn't," Mulder agrees. Diana relaxes; clearly, she believes he's beginning to see things her way.

"If you and I were to get married, I would be protected," she continues earnestly. "The rumors, I'm certain, would fall apart- _especially_ if you were to dismiss Lieutenant Scully and publicly name him as the person who began this whole thing in the first place." Mulder suppresses a flare of white-hot rage with difficulty. It's one thing to come into his camp and demand allegiance from him; it's quite another to also expect him to turn against the most important person in his life.

"I see one problem with this plan, Diana," he says, managing to keep his voice calm and level. "Well, no, I see several problems, but the first thing that springs to mind is that I have no recollection of ever promising to marry you."

Both Spender and Diana freeze, staring at him open-mouthed. Diana is the first to recover her power of speech.

"But... but of course you did, Fox!" she insists. "It's always been the plan, ever since we were children!"

"Can you tell me when, exactly, I asked for your hand?" he asks. "Or perhaps name the day that I asked your father for his blessing? Do you have a copy of an announcement of engagement that was sent to the local paper?"

"Well, no, of course not, but...." Diana seems to be struggling to find words. His specific objection, it seems, had not even occurred to her. "It's always just been understood, Fox! Between both of our families!"

"Yes, I'm well aware of the assumptions that have been made," he says. "But what I'm asking you to tell me is: when did _I_ promise to marry you? When have I ever even said that I would?"

"Stop this nonsense at once," cuts in Spender, furious. "You know very well that your father and I have always planned for the two of you to marry, to join our estates and our businesses. It's been the plan for years, and you suddenly playing dumb now is nothing short of preposterous."

"I know what you and my father have planned," says Mulder. "But I also know that I have never been consulted in any of these plans, nor have I ever promised to help to bring them to fruition. So when I tell you, Diana, that I have no plans to marry you, I'm not breaking any promise whatsoever." 

"So your precious Scully has gotten to you, as well, then?" asks Diana, managing to work up a few fairly convincing tears. "Fox, you _know_ me. When have I ever taken any interest in anything political? What would possibly provoke me to put my honor- my _life_ , even- in jeopardy for something I don't even care about?"

"You've never cared about politics, it's true," concedes Mulder. "But you're right. I _do_ know you. And I know how much you hate to have your status quo disrupted. You like things in your life to be a certain way, and when something threatens that, you're never shy about making sure that everything remains exactly the way you prefer. My joining the Union army, that upset your status quo. The possibility that you might have to one day pay the servants who ensure that you never have to lift a finger to care for yourself, that would upset your life even more, wouldn't it? So you'll forgive me if I don't have much difficulty believing that you might engage in a little light espionage, if it meant that you might be able to keep things the way you like." Spender advances threateningly on Mulder.

"Now, you listen here, Boy-"

"Tell me," Mulder says, holding his ground, "how old was your friend Alex when his son was born?" Spender stops, staring at Mulder blankly. "His son, Diana, the one that you explained to me he wants your father to hire in his Culpeper offices. How old was Alex, when he became a father?"

"I don't- what- I...." Diana is flabbergasted, and if he weren't so angry, Mulder would probably find it amusing, watching her scrambling so desperately for an answer. "How would I know that, Fox? And why does it matter?"

"It matters," Mulder says, "because as I understand it, your friend Mr. Krycek is no older than I am. So the way I see it, there are two explanations. Either Alex fathered this child when he was still wearing short pants and playing kick-the-can... or this son of his doesn't exist at all, Diana, and you were lying to my face about what you and he were talking about outside of the theater that night." He smiles tightly at her. "You can see how I might find one explanation a bit more plausible than the other."

"What are you saying, Fox?" asks Diana tearfully.

"I'm saying that whatever rumors are being spread about you, Diana, I don't have much trouble believing them," Mulder says coldly. "Especially not if people are saying that you've been trying for a year to pump me for information about the position and plans of the Union army, in hopes of passing it on to your father." Diana covers her face with her hands, but it's all an act: she has no false tears left to summon, and her fury at having been found out will give her away for sure.

"Boy, if you don't do this," snarls Spender, getting into Mulder's face, "If you don't marry my daughter, if you refuse to protect her... I promise you, you will regret it for the rest of your life." He smirks cruelly. "Or for what's left of it, which, I can also promise, will not be much."

"I'll take my chances," says Mulder coolly. "And now I think it's time for you to go. Lieutenant Thomas will walk you to the picket line, and they'll see that you're escorted a safe distance from the encampment."

"Fox, please," sobs Diana. "You can't do this to me. I won't stand a chance without your protection." Mulder remains impassive. 

"Best of luck, Diana," he says. "I doubt we'll meet again."

Spender looks as though he would like to strangle Mulder- his hand even twitches as though desperate to grab the revolver he likely has hidden in his coat- but, in the end, he chooses simply to grab Diana's arm and hustle her out of the tent. Mulder sinks down onto a camp stool, all his breath leaving him.

The tent flap rustles, and soft footfalls cross to Mulder, but he doesn't look up. A gentle hand caresses the top of his head, settling at the back of his neck, and he reaches out blindly, bracketing Scully's narrow hips with his hands and pulling her close. She cradles his head against her stomach, and he wraps his arms around her, breathing deeply and soaking up all the comfort she has to give.

"Are you all right?" she asks, stroking his hair. He nods.

"I think so," he tells her honestly. "It's a relief to have it all over with." He pulls back and looks up at her. "I feel free, now. I can never think of her again, if I choose not to." Scully doesn't look convinced.

"You don't think she'll try to get back at you?" she asks him. "Or that her father will? He looked absolutely murderous when he left... and his threats didn't exactly sound idle, either." Mulder cocks an eyebrow at her.

"Listening in, huh?" he asks, but he's not even remotely angry.

"I had a bad feeling about the whole meeting," she says, shrugging. "If either of them made a move to attack you, I wanted to be on hand to stop it." Mulder grins up at her.

"Nothing will ever get in the way of you trying to protect me, huh, Scully?" he asks, and she smiles tenderly at him.

"Of course not," she says. She glances around, making certain that the tent flaps are closed, that nobody can see her, before bending and pressing a quick kiss to his forehead. "I have a vested interest in keeping you alive through the end of this war, Colonel Mulder. And regardless of how hard you might try to thwart me, I intend to do my duty, no matter what."


	23. Chapter 23

MARCH 1864  
NEAR WASHINGTON, D.C.

 

On the day the rider arrives in the encampment, the first real warmth of spring has begun to creep into the air, and Mulder is in the middle of helping Scully and Jorgensen organize a baseball game. They're discussing how to divide up the sixteen men (well, fifteen men and one woman) into teams when Scully suddenly grabs Mulder's arm, her eyes wide as she stares at something over his shoulder.

Mulder turns to see Colonel Skinner hurrying towards him... and behind him, looking entirely out of place, his face frighteningly grave, is James. Mulder swears he feels his heart stutter to a stop in his chest. The men around him snap to attention and salute Skinner, but Mulder barely spares a glance for his commander as he shoulders past him.

"What's happened?" he asks James. "What's going on?"

"We need you back at the house, Master Fox," says James. "Your mother needs you to come home right away." 

"Is she all right?" Mulder demands. "Is she sick?" James shakes his head.

"She's fine, she's not sick, she's not hurt. She just...." His voice trails off as he looks past Mulder to the soldiers standing behind him, all listening closely. Skinner follows his gaze and steps between Mulder and the rest of his men.

"You men clear out," he orders them, and they immediately scatter, with the exception of Scully, who remains firmly planted by Mulder's side.

"It's your father, Fox," says James. "And your sister." Mulder's chest seizes up and he suddenly can't catch his breath; beside him, Scully gasps. 

"What-" Mulder swallows and finds that he can't speak, can't force himself to ask what has happened, whether Samantha is all right. He feels lightheaded and sways on his feet; Scully steps in closer beside him and he braces himself on her shoulder.

"Start from the beginning," Scully tells James, her voice blessedly calm. "Tell us what's happened."

"Your father and Mr. Spender, they had a fight, two nights ago," James tells Mulder. "I don't know what it was about, but I do know I never heard them shouting at each other like that before. Never heard your father shout at _anyone_ like that, not even you. Mr. Spender, he stormed out, and your father came and told me to have the servants pack for Mrs. Mulder and for Miss Samantha, and for him, that he wanted to take them somewhere else for a time."

"Where?" asks Mulder. James shakes his head.

"I don't know, and he didn't tell me. I did what he said, had everything ready to go by lunchtime today. They wanted to eat lunch, and then they planned to be on their way straight after, so I was in the dining room overseeing everything. There was a commotion outside, out in the front hall, I heard Mr. Spender and your father shouting at each other. Mr. Mulder, he shouted that the deal was off, that he never agreed to... I don't know, I didn't really understand what they were yelling about, but it had something to do with Miss Diana, with something she and Mr. Spender had been doing behind your father's back."

"So your father didn't know what Diana was up to, then," Scully says quietly, and in spite of the gravity of the situation, Mulder feels something loosen in his chest, ever so slightly. His father, it would seem, had had no part of the plan to wheedle information out of Mulder, and for that, he's gratified.

"What happened after that, James?" he asks. "Did Spender... did he hurt Samantha? Did he hurt my father?"

" _He_ didn't, no," says James. "He had another man with him, a younger man. He's been in the house before, for your father's meetings and dinners and such."

"Alex?" asks Mulder. "Was his name Alex?" James nods.

"That's it," he agrees. "Alex. Mr. Spender, he told your father that the plans were set, that he'd agreed to do his part and he shouldn't be concerning himself with all the rest of it, and he told your father that if he needed reminding, then Mr. Spender would be more than happy to do what it took." Scully's hand on Mulder's arm tightens.

"What did he do, James?" asks Mulder, his voice deadly low. In his head, he's already planning a fitting punishment for Spender, for Alex, for Diana, for everyone who's harmed his family.

"The other man- that Alex- he grabbed your sister and started dragging her out of the house. She was putting up one hell of a fight, but he was so much bigger, she never stood a chance. Your father swore up a storm at Mr. Spender and ran at him, but Mr. Spender...." James stops speaking a moment, swallowing hard. "Mr. Spender, he pulled out his gun and shot your father."

Mulder sways on the spot, and Colonel Skinner steps in to help Scully hold him up. The world goes gray around him and he's only dimly aware of Scully speaking.

"James, is he...." Her voice trails off.

"No, Miss... I mean, _Mister_ Scully, he's not dead, or at least he wasn't when I rode out from the house. The bullet hit him in the shoulder. I don't think Mr. Spender _meant_ to kill him, at least not right off. He told your parents he hoped that this guaranteed their cooperation, and he left, with that Alex and with Samantha."

"Is there a doctor with my father?" asks Mulder, and his stomach plummets further when James shakes his head.

"I rode into town, but Mr. Spender, he must have paid the doctor in Culpeper off, or threatened him, because he wouldn't come out to the house. So I came here, Master Fox, I didn't know where else to go."

"You've done well," says Skinner, taking over without discussion. "Colonel Mulder, I'm granting you a furlough. Take all the time you require to see to your father and see if there's anything that can be done about your sister."

"Sir, I'm-" Scully hasn't even gotten the words out before Skinner cuts her off.

"Yes, Lieutenant Scully, you are to go with him," he says. "I'm also sending Lieutenant Thomas to round up Corporal Zuckerman and send him and all of the men he requires along with you, to do whatever can be done for your father. I won't expect to see any of you back at camp until the matter is resolved, and if you require any further assistance, send word straight to me at once." Mulder is overcome with gratitude.

"Thank you, Sir," he says. "I won't forget this." Skinner nods shortly.

"I would come with you, if I could," he says. "But a brigade commander disappearing from camp is going to raise far more questions than the departure of a colonel."

"I understand, Sir," says Mulder, and without anything further, he and Scully rush off to call for their horses. Minutes later, they're galloping out of the encampment with James and Corporal Zuckerman, heading for Culpeper at a breakneck speed.

Night has fallen by the time they ride up the front drive, their horses exhausted and sweating. There are lights burning in nearly every window, and a young slave is standing on the front steps, a rifle clutched in his anxious hands, keeping watch. He relaxes visibly when he recognizes the new arrivals, and James leaps off of his horse and approaches the boy, patting him reassuringly on the shoulder.

"Good work, Daniel," he tells the boy. "Go and get the grooms to take care of these horses, all right?" The boy nods and takes off, disappearing into the darkness of the grounds behind the house. Mulder, his heart in his throat, races up the front steps and through the door, Scully close on his heels.

"We put your father in his bedroom, Master Fox," James calls to him, and Mulder nods and makes for the stairs, motioning for Corporal Zuckerman to follow him. They take the steps two at a time and race down the hallway.

The double doors to the master bedroom are standing open, and inside, the fire has been built up high in the fireplace, so that the entire room is blazingly warm. A maid sits in front of the fire, stoking it, and Bill Mulder lies on top of the blankets on the bed, stripped to the waist, his eyes closed and his face pale. His left shoulder is swathed in bloody bandages, and Teena Mulder is hovering over him. She looks up when Mulder enters, her exhausted face desperate, and her eyes widen in terror when Corporal Zuckerman follows him in.

"Fox!" she exclaims. "What are you doing here? Who is this?"

"He's here to help, Mother," Mulder reassures her, coming to her side and taking her arm, drawing her away from the bed to give Zuckerman space to examine his patient. "This is Corporal Zuckerman, and he's the same surgeon who saved Scully's life last fall when she was injured." His slip of tongue registers too late, but thankfully, Teena is far too focused on her husband to notice anything else. On the bed, Bill Mulder's eyes flutter at the sound of his son's voice.

"Fox," he rasps, and Mulder sits carefully on the edge of the bed, leaning over his father, trying not to jostle him at all.

"I'm here, Father," he says. "I've brought someone who can help you."

"They took...." Bill stops, takes several shallow breaths, starts again. "They took your sister, Fox. Spender... Alex... they took her. You need-"

"I know, Father," says Mulder. "I'm going to go after them, I'm going to get her back, but I need to know: where would they have taken her?"

"There's... there's a farmhouse, to the south of Fredericksburg," says Bill. "Charles owns it. Uses it to store goods he brings south, when he's evading attention. When he has something he doesn't want to share." Bill hisses as Zuckerman carefully removes the bandages from his shoulder. "The others... they won't approve-" He stops and gasps as Zuckerman prods gently at the wound. "They won't approve of Charles taking Samantha. He won't take her somewhere that anyone else will see her." Mulder turns to James.

"Find a map," he says. "Something of the area around Fredericksburg." James nods and disappears, and Mulder turns back to face Zuckerman. "How bad is it? Can you treat him?"

"He may lose the arm," says Zuckerman, "but I'm going to do all that I can to prevent that. He’ll lose the use of the arm, at the very least." He glances up at Teena. "Ma'am, are there any other strong men about the house who can help to hold your husband down? The bullet is still in the wound. He can't be allowed to thrash around while I'm extracting it, or we risk further damage." Teena wrings her hands, biting her lip.

"There are field hands," she says, "and the grooms, but my husband never allows them inside the house." Mulder groans in exasperation.

"For God's sake, Mother," he says, "now is not the time to worry about that!" He turns to the maid crouched in front of the fireplace. "Go find three or four other men to come and help," he tells her. "Bring them back up here immediately." The girl looks terrified, but she stands and races off without another word. James passes her in the doorway, a map clutched in his hand, and he hands it to Mulder, who unfolds it. With his good arm, Bill motions for his son to hold it close. He squints at it, and after a moment, he raises his right hand and points to a wooded area just south of the grid of lines that represents Fredericksburg.

"It's in here," he rasps. "Dead center of the patch of trees. On this road here...." He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then opens them and resumes. "There's a turn-off. Not marked. Can't see the house from the road... can't see the road from the house, either." Mulder nods.

"I'll go, right away," he tells his father. He glances at Scully. "Will you-"

"Of course I'm coming with you," she says, not giving him the chance to finish, but he shakes his head. He's not risking her, not this time.

"That's not what I was going to say," he tells her. The anger springs up in her eyes immediately, and he knows he's going to have a fight on his hands. "I want you to stay here, with my mother, and give Corporal Zuckerman whatever assistance he requires."

"Mulder, no," she says. "You're not going after Samantha on your own. You can't."

"Scully, please," Mulder begs her. "There's every chance that this could end badly. I can't risk losing you, as well." Scully's glare does not soften in the slightest.

"And there will be less chance of _me_ losing you if I'm by your side, Mulder," she says insistently. "You know I'm right. You need me with you."

"I need you _alive_ , Scully," Mulder pleads. "Don't make me order you to stay behind."

"You can try," Scully says. "It's one order I won't obey."

"I think maybe you ought to listen to her, Master Fox," says James. "You don't know how many men Mr. Spender has there. You might need someone to cover you. You might need someone to take your sister and go while you hold them off. You might need to carry Miss Samantha out of there, and you won't be able to protect yourself while you do."

"Begging your pardon, but she's right, Sir," says Corporal Zuckerman. "You have no way of knowing what sort of situation you're riding into. I would take her, and take your man who came to fetch us, as well, if he's willing." James nods his agreement. On the bed, Bill is peering up at them all in confusion.

"'She?'" he asks. "What 'she' are they talking about, Fox?" Mulder, Scully, James, and Corporal Zuckerman all seem to hold their breath at once. Teena looks back and forth between her son and her husband, frowning. Mulder glances at Scully, who sighs and gives a shrug that Mulder takes to mean _Go on, if you must._

"Father, Mother," he says, bracing himself inwardly, "I'd like to introduce your future daughter-in-law, Miss Dana Scully." Next to him, Scully smiles tightly and removes her cap as Mulder places a proprietary hand at the small of her back.

"This isn't exactly how we had planned to tell you," she says apologetically. Bill and Teena scrutinize her closely, and it seems to hit them both at the same moment. They turn, wide-eyed, to their son.

"A woman," says Bill, then pauses to cough and catch his breath. "Your lieutenant is a woman."

"A woman," says Mulder, "and, when the war has finished, she'll be my wife." Teena opens her mouth, most likely intending to ask ill-timed questions about Diana, about Scully's family, her dowry, her reputation in her hometown, but there's no time. And since he senses that his life will be in serious danger if he drops this announcement on his parents and then leaves Scully to handle the fallout alone (especially once it occurs to his mother that this woman has been sharing a tent with her son for months), he now has no choice but to acquiesce to Scully's demand and take her with him.

"We've got to leave now, if we're going," he says. "We don't know how long Spender will keep Samantha in one place, or even if she's at this house at all. We need to be fast." His father reaches out to him with his good hand, and Mulder clasps it.

"Come back safe," Bill says. "All of you." His eyes linger on Scully, and Mulder can tell that he has a hundred questions, but that he also knows, thankfully, that now is not the time to ask them.

"We'll be back as soon as we can, Father," Mulder promises. "With Samantha. And if Charles Spender thinks he can stop me...." He trails off as he realizes that he's talking about the possibility of killing his father's life-long friend.

"Do what you have to do, Fox," says Bill, steel in his eyes and a chill in his voice. "Any man who threatens my children is no friend of mine. Not any more."

It doesn't escape Mulder's attention that his father specifies "children," and not just "child." He is including his son in this, telling Mulder for certain that whatever Charles Spender and Diana have been plotting, however they have been trying to use him, William Mulder has not been a part of it.

Scully is going to be saying "I told you so" all the way to Fredericksburg.

With a nod to his father and a kiss to his mother's cheek, Mulder turns and strides out of the master bedroom, Scully and James hurrying along behind him. He makes a stop in his own bedroom, where, from the wooden chest at the foot of his bed, he retrieves one of the hunting rifles his father had given him as a child and starts to hand it to James... but then, he stops.

Thus far, James has been given no say in all of this. Mulder cannot, will not order James to go with them. He knows without a doubt that Spender will hesitate to shoot a slave even less than he'll hesitate to shoot Mulder.

"James, you should stay," he says decisively. "I'm not having you risk your life, as well. You already took enough of a risk, riding to the encampment by yourself to come and get me. You should stay here and help Corporal Zuckerman take care of my father." James sets his jaw stubbornly and reaches out, taking the rifle out of Mulder's hands.

"I want to go," says James. "Not for your father, not for your mother, not even for you, Fox. I want to go because Miss Samantha is a sweet, kind soul, the kindest I've ever known, and I know if I were in trouble, she wouldn't hesitate to come and help me." He slings the rifle onto his back. "We need to stop wasting time and get moving." And without waiting for Mulder to answer, he turns and strides out of the bedroom. Mulder and Scully exchange glances.

"Do you think that we could hire him, after we're married?" Scully asks him. "To run our house? If we pay him well?" Mulder grins at her.

"I was going to suggest it if you didn't," he tells her, and she smiles. Taking his hand in hers, she leaves the bedroom, and they both hurry off after James.


	24. Chapter 24

MARCH 1864  
NEAR FREDERICKSBURG, MARYLAND

 

Rather than climbing back on their original mounts, who are still being wiped down and watered, Mulder, Scully, and James saddle three fresh horses and gallop off southward, towards Fredericksburg. There is no conversation, but Mulder occasionally catches Scully looking over at him worriedly, doubtless terrified that he'll do something rash and stupid at some point tonight, and she'll be required to step in.

 _You don't need to worry, Scully_ , he wishes he could tell her. _I won't make you risk your life, not to cover my own stupidity._ If she had stayed behind, it would have been a different matter and he would not have felt the same need for caution; now, however, he's determined to somehow get all of them out alive. Scully cannot forever be risking herself for his sake, and James, who is already owed more by the Mulder family than they could ever hope to repay, should not be expected to pay for the kindness of one little girl with his life. 

They keep to the smaller roads as much as possible, avoiding passing anyone else, giving Fredericksburg a wide berth as they pass it on the west. When they reach Mine Road, they turn to the east for the first time, Mulder consulting the map as best he can by the moonlight.

"We should be coming up on it," he tells them. "It's just past the intersection with Lansdowne Road, before the creek." The other two nod wordlessly. They slow as they pass Lansdowne, scanning the foliage to their left, looking for the turn-off. As the burbling sound of the creek breaks through the silence of the early spring night, Mulder becomes uneasy- have they missed the turnoff? Has Spender concealed it, somehow?

"There!" whispers Scully, pointing, and they draw their horses up short. Sure enough, there's a tiny gap in the low growth to their left, nowhere near large enough to admit a carriage. It's barely wide enough, in fact, for a single rider. If they hadn't been looking for it, they never would have seen it.

"We shouldn't take the horses," murmurs James. "The sound of that creek will cover our footsteps, long as we're quiet, but not the sound of the horses' hooves."

"We can tie them up across the road, just beyond the tree line," agrees Scully. She leaps down from her saddle. "It's dark enough that nobody riding by should be able to see them." James dismounts and follows her.

"I don't like it," Mulder replies. "It could be hard to make a quick getaway if our horses are all the way over here."

"I know," agrees Scully, "but James is right. The horses can only walk so quietly, and if something spooks them, they'll give us away." They're both right and Mulder knows it, but that doesn't make him feel any better about the idea. He doesn't know what shape Samantha is in, if she's been hurt, whether or not she'll be capable of running or whether he or James will need to carry her, and any distance between them and their method of escape makes this more difficult. Still, he dismounts and follows James and Scully, and moments later, their horses are secured by their reins to a low-hanging branch, out of sight from the road.

As they creep along the path away from the main road, Mulder feels hyper-aware of every tiny twig that breaks beneath his boots. Scully and James, following close behind him, are managing to move in near-silence, but Mulder somehow seems to be able to find as many ways to make noise as possible, no matter how he tries to avoid it. It's pure luck that they meet no one as they go, and that the creek, running parallel to the path, is just loud enough to mask his footfalls.

It's less than two minutes later that Mulder spies a glimmer of light less than fifty yards ahead. He gestures for the other two to get down low, and he leads them carefully off of the trail and into the brush, keeping close to the creek. Twenty more yards, and he can make out the edge of a clearing through the trees, and ten yards after that, the house- no more than a shack, really, a cabin if he's being generous- appears. Mulder freezes at the edge of the clearing, concealed from the cabin windows by a thick clump of huckleberry bushes.

All three of them are silent for a moment, carefully studying their objective. There's hardly any open ground between the edge of the clearing and the cabin- less than five feet of bare forest floor from the closest tree to the cabin wall- so there won't be a long, exposed crawl to worry about, for which Mulder is profoundly grateful.

A shadow passes across the one window that faces them, and Mulder doesn't recognize the face of the man who glances out briefly before moving on. He turns back to James.

"Was that Alex?" he asks. "At the window, just now?" James nods. Mulder draws his pistol, readying himself to charge in.

"Let's go," he whispers... but before he can spring out into the open, both Scully and James grab him by the arms, arresting his forward motion.

"Are you insane, Mulder?" Scully hisses in his ear. "We have no idea how many men are in that shack, or even whether or not your sister is in there with them!"

"She's right," agrees James. "Let's give it a minute and see what we can find out first. Then we can make a plan that's not just you running in there waving your gun like a madman." Grudgingly, Mulder has to admit to himself that James and Scully have a point. So as much as it pains him to do it, he remains in place, watching the cabin for signs of movement.

There's not much to be seen, as it turns out; Alex Krycek meanders by the window several more times, and once, Mulder catches sight of Charles Spender, puffing away on a cigar, holding it in his fingertips and using it to gesticulate as he argues with Krycek. They're too far away, however, to make out any of what's being said.

"We need to get closer," he mutters. "Somehow, we need to see what's going on in there." Scully edges forward quietly on her knees.

"Let me," she whispers. "I'm the smallest and lightest. I can be quieter than both of you." Mulder opens his mouth to argue, but closes it with a snap at the look she gives him. As much as he hates to admit it, she's right. She carefully unslings her rifle, holding it at the ready, and rises to a crouch. "I'll make one circuit around the cabin, sticking to the wall," she tells them. "Stay here."

Scully covers the ground between the tree line and the cabin as quickly and as silently as promised, and flattens herself against the clapboard wall just underneath the window. Mulder, who has been holding his breath, relaxes slightly. As long as she stays against the wall, unless Krycek or Spender opens the window and leans out, they won't be able to see her.

Scully begins to edge her way around the cabin, stopping every few feet and pressing her ear to the wall, trying to make out the conversation inside. A moment later, she disappears around the corner, leaving Mulder to bite his lip and hold his breath again. He begins counting silently, trying to judge how quickly he can reasonably expect to see Scully appear at the other corner of the house, if she can manage to avoid detection, and if Spender doesn't have any other guards posted around the cabin.

He makes it to seventy-nine before he can't take it anymore. He rises from his knees to a crouch, draws his pistol, and readies himself to dash out to the cabin, to go around it in the other direction until he comes to Scully.

At the last second, James realizes what he's about to do and grabs him by the arm.

" _Wait_ ," he hisses. "Just wait. Give her another minute before you go running after her. We would've heard something, if they saw her and grabbed her." Grudgingly, Mulder obeys, though he keeps his pistol out.

Less than thirty seconds later, Scully creeps around the corner of the cabin. She pauses briefly under the window before rushing back across the clearing. She slips carefully back between Mulder and James, crouching down once again. 

"There's a gap in the boards, on the opposite wall," she tells them. "Small. Not wide enough for anyone to see me looking in, but not wide enough for me to see the whole cabin, either. It's just one room. No walls." She nods at the corner she had rounded, moments ago, before rejoining them. "Samantha's in there, Mulder. Samantha, Alex, Spender, and that's it, unless someone's up against the wall with the crack and I couldn't see them."

"Is Samantha all right?" Mulder asks.

"I couldn't see her that well, but I think so," Scully says. "There's a cot in the corner and she's lying on it

"Could you hear what they were talking about?" Mulder whispers, and Scully shakes her head.

"Not really," she whispers. "They looked like they were arguing." Mulder bites his lip, thinking. If it really is only Spender and Krycek in there, the numbers are in his favor, with James and Scully by his side. But how to get in there?

"Which side is the door on?" he asks, and she jerks her chin towards the right, in the direction of the last wall she had passed.

"Standing slightly open," she says. 

"So there's three of us and two of them," Mulder says. Scully catches his meaning immediately and shakes her head.

"If we charge the door, and one of them has the chance to react, they could harm Samantha," she says.

"What if we lure them out?" suggests James. "Get them outside of the cabin before we try and take them down?"

"I could hide in the trees to the side of the door," says Scully. "Shoot them as they come out, without having to aim towards the house and risk hitting Sam." Mulder thinks this over. Scully's idea makes sense, and it has the added benefit of keeping her hidden in the trees, at least at first. He nods.

"All right," he agrees. "I'll move closer to the door, but still out of sight. The two of you hide by the corner of the cabin. I'll make noise- snap some twigs, rattle some bushes- and Scully, you shoot them as they come out. James, you shoot second. If only one of them comes out, you help me charge the door."

"And me?" asks Scully. Dim as the light is, her expression tells him that she knows exactly why he likes this plan.

"You reload and then follow us," he says. She narrows her eyes, but nods her agreement. "Let's move," he says, and quietly, they move through the woods, keeping just inside the tree line, until they're level with the corner of the cabin, and the barely-cracked front door is just visible. Scully looks for a convenient branch on which to rest the barrel of her rifle, the better to keep her hand steady, and suddenly, they may as well be back with the regiment, preparing for battle, getting ready to charge the enemy, unsure of the outcome but praying fervently for the day to go their way.

Impulsively, Mulder reaches out and touches Scully's cheek. She jumps, surprised, and turns to him. They say nothing, but in the dim flicker of the lamps in the cabin's windows, he can see that she's feeling the same thing as him. She turns her head to the side, just enough to press her lips briefly to his fingertips, and then returns to her task. James, watching all of this closely, rolls his eyes at Mulder, who smiles sheepishly. He turns to move away, through the trees, so that when- _if_ \- Spender and Krycek come outside, he won't be in the line of fire. 

But before he can take a step, the quiet night is rent by sudden shouting.

"You little _BITCH!!!_ " shouts an unfamiliar voice that Mulder knows must be Krycek's.

"Grab her, you fool!" shouts Spender, and half a second later, the cabin door is kicked all the way open, and Samantha, her hands bound in front of her, comes running out, off balance without the use of her arms, but still, unhurt. Mulder's heart leaps- but Krycek runs out the door after her, clearly favoring one leg, but still closing the distance easily. Mulder has taken a single step out into the clearing, intending to knock Krycek to the ground before he can catch Samantha, ready to pound the life out of him, when suddenly-

_BANG._

Krycek falls, still two feet shy of reaching Sam. Beside Mulder, Scully begins to hastily reload. Mulder runs towards Samantha, who has frozen and is staring in complete confusion down at Krycek. Her bewilderment only increases when she glances up to see her older brother racing towards her. He reaches her at the same moment that Spender appears in the cabin doorway.

Had Spender been armed, things would likely have gone south immediately... but aside from his cigar, his hands are empty. He surveys the scene before him: Krycek, lying on the ground as he clutches at his chest and gasps for breath, and Mulder, pistol drawn, standing between him and Samantha.

Another shot whines past Spender's head, and he whirls to face James and Scully, advancing towards him from beside the house. He seems to do a quick count of the number of guns aimed in his direction, and before Mulder can take aim at him, Spender turns and bolts for the woods. Mulder fires a shot at him, but it misses, and he disappears into the darkness between the trees. Moments later, there's the sound of hoofbeats, retreating into the distance.

In the silence left behind, the four of them stare at each other in total shock. Samantha looks from Mulder, to Scully, to James, and back to Mulder again.

"Fox?" She reaches out and reaches her still-bound hands out to poke at his chest, as though convincing herself that he's really standing there. "What are you _doing_ here?"

"We came after you," he says. "Though from the sound of things, you were doing well enough without us." He shakes himself out of his dumbstruck stupor and pulls his knife out of his belt,carefully cutting the ropes off of Samantha's wrists, rubbing the red, chafed skin left behind. "How did you get out?" She smirks, for some reason, at Scully.

"The same way Dana got into the army," she says. "Some men will always underestimate women. I pretended to cry myself to sleep when they threw me down on that cot. I waited until they were distracted and arguing... and since they were too stupid to have bound my ankles, the moment Alex got close enough to the cot, I kicked his legs out from under him and ran for it."

At the mention of Krycek, they all look down at the now-still body lying on the forest floor, some ten feet away. Scully approaches him cautiously and bends down, holding her hand in front of his mouth to feel for breath, then pressing her fingers to his neck to check for a pulse. After a moment she stands, shaking her head.

"He's dead," she says. "What do we do with him?" Mulder turns to James and Samantha.

"Does he have family that we know of?" he asks them. "We should at least try to notify them. Whatever he may have been, there could be a wife and child relying on him."

"I know nothing about him," says Samantha. "Father might know more... that is, if her...." Her voice trails off as she thinks back to the scene of her abduction, and Mulder can tell, from her expression, that in the stress and the excitement of breaking loose and of Mulder trying to rescue her, she had forgotten, for a moment, what had happened. "Fox," she says, her voice trembling, "is Father...."

"He was still all right when we left," Mulder reassures her, putting an arm around her trembling shoulders. "We brought him a surgeon from camp, the same surgeon who saved Scully's life."

"Twice," puts in Scully. "He's excellent, Samantha, I promise. He'll take good care of your father." Sam takes a deep breath and nods, closing her eyes and leaning against Mulder. He realizes that she must be exhausted after the ordeal of the day. Glancing down at Krycek one last time, he comes to a decision.

"We can't take the time to bury him," he says. "And we can't take his body back with us. It could attract the wrong sort of attention, and I have no idea what we would do with it once we got there. I'll send word to the Confederate war office and report him as killed in action. That way, if he has a family, they'll at least know he's not coming home." The others nod their approval of this plan.

"We should get out of here," says Scully. "We have no way of knowing if Spender will come back with reinforcements."

"I doubt he will," says Samantha shortly. "His entire argument with Alex was over what they should do with me. Aside from Diana, there's almost no one in their little circle that would approve of what Mr. Spender did today, shooting Father and kidnapping me. The others will think he's gone too far."

"That could make him even more desperate," muses James. "To get you back, Miss Samantha, and to use you as leverage. I don't know what, exactly, your father refused to do, but Spender probably thinks that if he can get you back, he can use you to make Mister Mulder do what he wants... or to make you behave, Master Fox, if your father won't." Mulder thinks this over. 

"We can't bring you home, then," he says quietly, and Samantha looks stricken. "As long as Spender is still out there, you won't be safe. With Father recovering, and with me gone, it's just too much of a risk."

"But where can I go, then?" Samantha asks.

"What if we sent her to my family?" suggests Scully tentatively. "In Pennsylvania? She could stay with my mother, at least until it's safe for her to come home."

"Would your mother be all right with that?" Mulder asks.

"I'm sure she would," says Scully confidently. "And Melissa is still there with her. She'll be in excellent company." She turns to Samantha. "Would you be all right with that, Sam? Staying with my mother and my sister in West Chester? It's not nearly as comfortable as your home in Virginia, but they'll keep you safe as long as you need it... and something tells me that you and my sister would get along quite well." Sam bites her lip.

"I... I could do that," she says. "If I really can't go home yet."

"I think it would be best to be cautious," says Mulder. "If Spender is determined enough to shoot a man he's been friends with for decades, he's desperate enough to come for you again."

"How do we get her there, though?" asks Scully. "I can't go home, for obvious reasons, and I can't imagine Skinner releasing you from our regiment for that long, not this late in March, when things could begin again at any moment."

"I think," says James, his expression unreadable, "that I might be able to help with that." All three of them whirl to face him in surprise. "But first, we need to get out of here. Let's get back to our horses and I'll explain on the way."

As much as Mulder wants more information immediately, he knows that James is right, and together, they set off back down the narrow footpath to the road. Their horses are, blessedly, exactly where they had been left, and in minutes, they're riding back in the direction of Culpeper, Samantha sitting in front of Mulder on his horse.

When they've put five miles between them and the turn-off for Spender's cabin, they slow their horses to a trot, and Mulder turns to James.

"All right, explain to me how we're getting Sam to West Chester," he says. "And then explain to me how you're the one who knows this."

"I have... friends," says James hesitantly. "Friends I trust, who can get Miss Samantha to safety. I'm not sure how much more it's safe for me to say."

"Come on, James, you know I would have either set you free or paid you a hefty salary years ago, whichever you wanted more, if it had been up to me. I'm not my father. I'm not about to punish you, or tell you off, even. Who are your friends, and how do we know we can trust them?" Still, James hesitates.

"It's not just my own skin I'm protecting, Master Fox," he says. "There are others I need to think of."

"And I promise, whatever you tell me, it stops with Scully and me," says Mulder. "But I can't send my sister off not knowing where she's going or who's going to be with her."

"I've been...." James still doesn't seem to want to speak, and Mulder can tell that, no matter what promises he gives, the man will remain terrified. But the more he thinks on it, the more he begins to guess what James has to say.

"I've always wondered," Mulder says, quietly, "why you've never tried to leave, James. We're gone from the plantation for months at a time. Father always writes ahead to let you know when the family will be there. If you had ever wanted to take off, you would have had a tremendous head start. You could have been in Canada, for all we knew, by the time we ever discovered that you were gone."

"I know that," says James. "But like I said... it's not just me I gotta worry about." He continues on in silence a moment more, looking pensively at the dark and empty road ahead.

"James," Mulder sighs, "I promise you, if you tell me you've been hiding runaway slaves at the plantation whenever we're not there, if you tell me that our house has been a stop on Harriet Tubman's underground railroad and none of us ever knew a thing about it...." He shakes his head, grinning. "I can't think of much else that would make me happier, James. I'm serious." James smiles sheepishly.

"I sorta figured," he says. "But, like I said, it's not just me I gotta think about here. I can't be too careful." Samantha, in spite of her exhaustion, is delighted.

"Is it true, James?" she asks. "You've really been helping slaves to escape?"

"For a very, very long time, Miss Samantha," he tells her. "Since you were just barely walking. If I tell these people where to take you, they'll get you there."

"You should go with her, James," says Mulder suddenly. "You've done enough. More than enough." James looks unsure. "Please, James. Spender saw you, back there at the cabin. He knows you shot at him. You might not be safe anymore, either."

"I suppose that's true," sighs James. "All right, Miss Sam, I'll go with you and see that you get to Miss Scully's people without any trouble." He looks at Mulder, eyebrows raised. "And then what do I do?"

"That part is up to you, James," says Mulder. James digests this, slowly, gazing out at the road. Mulder wonders how it must feel, to suddenly be responsible for the direction one's life will take, after a lifetime of having everything dictated to you. He remembers his sense of freedom, the day he had ridden away from the Mulder plantation, from his father's expectations. Scully has told him of what it felt like to escape her parents' plans for her. How much more overwhelming, then, must the sudden thrill of liberation be for James, who has never had a say in any aspect of his life, from birth until today?

Mulder mulls over the thought of James foregoing his own freedom to help others attain their own, sitting alone in that empty mansion with the border so tantalizingly close, his liberation waiting just on the other side... and not taking that chance, so that others might have it, instead.

He shakes his head in wonderment. James possesses a bravery that Mulder will never know.

They make for Culpeper, but some ten miles shy of the plantation, James leads them further to the west, until they come to a modest house set back from the road in the center of an apple orchard, the trees just beginning to bud in the early spring warmth. James knocks, and after multiple locks are thrown back, the door opens to reveal three men peering mistrustfully out at them.

"James," the shortest of them, a dark-haired man with spectacles perched on the bridge of this nose, "what is all this? You didn't send word you were bringing anyone."

"I know, Mr. Frohike, and I'm sorry," says James. He pulls Samantha forward. "This is Miss Samantha Mulder. We need to get her north as soon as possible, and I need to go with her." The three men stare goggle-eyed at Sam, who looks nervous.

"Mulder?" asks the tallest of them, his head covered in a messy thatch of blond hair. "As in, the Mulders of Culpeper? Mulder Plantation? The most powerful family within fifty miles? And you want us to take her daughter into Union territory?"

"Please, her life is in danger," says Mulder, stepping forward. "I'm her brother. I'm sending her away for her own safety, and we need to do it quietly." The three men turn their distrustful gazes on Mulder.

"You're Fox Mulder?" the bearded one asks. "William Mulder's son? The one who ran away to join the Union?"

"As if my uniform weren't enough of a giveaway?" Mulder asks. "Yes, that's me. I'll pay whatever you ask, I just need you to take them both to safety. Immediately." Frohike, the short one, looks offended.

"We don't take _payment_ ," he snorts. "All we want is the reassurance that we won't be hauled into Culpeper and thrown in jail by your father for kidnapping his daughter."

"You want me to put it in writing?" says Mulder. "Fine, I can put it in writing. Get me some paper. I'll sign anything you want, just get my sister out of here. _Please_."

Fifteen minutes later, the ink is drying on a written statement from Mulder, giving his permission for Mr. Frohike, Mr. Byers, and Mr. Langley to take Samantha Mulder and James Richards across the border and into Union territory. Without delay, they saddle horses for Byers and Frohike (Langley is to stay behind in case any other fugitives come their way while the others are gone). Mulder, at the last second, goes and fetches his own horse, passing the reins to Sam.

"You take this one," he tells her. "And James, you keep the horse you rode to Spender's cabin. That way, everyone has their own mount, and you'll be much faster. I'll ride double with Scully back to the plantation." Scully hands Samantha a hastily-written letter of her own.

"This is for my mother and my sister," she says. "Explaining who you are, and why you've been sent north. Don't worry," she says, in response to the younger girl's anxious face. "They'll be glad to have you. My mother has been on her own for so long after years of having her house filled to the brim with people. She'll be glad for more company, and she and Melissa will _both_ be glad for a third person to talk to when they're sick of one another."

Saying goodbye to Samantha proves to be one of the most difficult things that Mulder has ever done, not least because it has to be done so quickly. The others give them what privacy they can, waiting a short distance away as they embrace tightly.

"I'll see you when this is over," says Mulder, unwilling to let his little sister go, even though he knows he has to. 

"You promise?" she asks, and he nods.

"I promise. The moment Scully and I are given leave, we'll ride straight to West Chester to come and get you."

"But what if something happens to you before then?" Sam asks tremulously. 

"Hey, I've got Scully to look after me, don't I?" Mulder jokes, pulling back and holding Samantha by the shoulders. "Nothing's going to happen to me on her watch."

"As long as you listen to her and don't do anything stupid," Samantha retorts, a flash of her usual attitude coming through and making Mulder smile.

"I'm insulted," says Mulder. "This is me we're talking about here."

"That's exactly my point," says Samantha. She hugs him one more time. "I love you, Fox," she says.

"Love you too, little sister," he tells her. He squeezes her once more; then, reluctantly, he releases her. "You'd better get a move on." She nods, biting back tears. She goes to Scully and embraces her, then climbs onto her waiting horse. Mulder and Scully stand together, watching the small group as they ride off across the moonlit countryside.

"You'd better get lost," says Langley suddenly, cutting across the silence. "Two Union soldiers hanging around this place'll bring me attention I don't need." Without anything further, he slinks off into the farmhouse, slamming the door behind him. Mulder and Scully raise their eyebrows at one another.

"Friendly," she comments, and Mulder laughs. They climb up onto their horse, Scully sitting in front, and head off down the road in the direction of Culpeper. With their task complete, and no real reason to rush, they go slowly, giving the overworked horse a break. Mulder wraps his arms tightly around Scully's waist and leans his chin on her shoulder.

"Are you all right?" she asks, letting go of the reins with one hand to stroke his cheek.

"I am, surprisingly," he says. "She'll be all right. They'll take good care of her. All things considered, she'll be safer with your family than she has been so far. Happier, too, I'm betting." He grins. "I think you're right about her and Melissa. They'll get on just fine."

"I asked Sam not to mention our engagement to my mother just yet," Scully tells him. "I think that news will be better coming directly from me... especially if you're there beside me. Otherwise she might think I'm making the whole thing up."

"She doesn't trust you?" asks Mulder.

"Oh, she does," Scully says. "But even you have to admit, it's one hell of a story. A rich southern landowner's son and a northern woman disguised as a man, meeting in wartime and falling in love?" She shakes her head. "I couldn't have made up a more outlandish tale if I'd tried."

"I think maybe your sister was right," muses Mulder. "About fate, and destiny. I think that maybe, some people- some souls- are just meant to find one another. To be together, in every lifetime." Scully mulls this over.

"It's a comforting thought," she allows, snuggling back against him. "The idea that you and I have been together in the past, that we'll be together in the future. I'm not sure I believe it... but I would like to." She turns her head to the side to smile at Mulder, and he kisses her.

"So would I, Scully," he says. "So would I."


	25. Chapter 25

**Epilogue**

 

JUNE 1865  
WEST CHESTER, PENNSYLVANIA

 

As they near Philadelphia, the countryside through which Mulder and Scully are riding becomes slowly more and more populous, empty countryside gradually giving way to farmland, then a series of small towns, growing ever closer together.

"How long now?" asks Mulder, and Scully smiles at the slight edge of nervousness in his voice, though his face betrays nothing.

"Less than an hour," she tells him. He nods shortly. "You know, Mulder," she ventures, smiling playfully, "if anyone has a reason to be scared, it's me." 

"Who said anything about being scared?" he asks, giving her a smile that's probably meant to be carefree, but ends up just looking like a grimace. She shakes her head.

"I'm the one coming home after defying my entire family and exposing them all to potential shame and ridicule," she says. 

"Oh, and I didn't do the same for my own family?" he asks.

"You?" Scully laughs. "All you did was to do exactly what every able-bodied young man is expected to do when war breaks out: you signed up to fight."

"For the wrong side," argues Mulder. "At least, according to my parents."

"Well, they forgave you in the end, didn't they?" she asks. "I honestly have no idea how my parents are going to react when I walk through the front door."

"At least you're not walking through the front door empty-handed," teases Mulder. "You might have run away to join the army, and you might have spent three years' worth of nights bedding down with hundreds of strange men, but at least you managed to snag one of them to be your husband." He puffs out his chest and grins teasingly at her. "And one of the wealthiest, at that." Scully laughs.

"You make it sound as though the only reason I went to war was to find a husband," she says, shaking her head. "Though, really, that may well end up being the best light in which to preset the whole thing to my mother."

"Especially given how well it worked," Mulder says. He shifts in his saddle, standing up in his stirrups to stretch his legs. "It's almost suppertime," he observes. "You sure you don't want to find another inn? Put off our arrival until after breakfast tomorrow morning?"

"Are you really so afraid of my father that you're willing to wait another day? Pay for another room?"

"I'm just saying, Scully, this is probably going to be the last time we have the opportunity to spend the night together for a very long time," he tells her, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Nobody thinks twice about giving a room to a couple of soldiers on their way home from the war. A soldier and a woman who's not yet his wife, on the other hand...." He shakes his head mournfully. "The only places that would agree to that, Scully, rent their rooms by the hour, and they come already furnished with a woman. Or two." Scully whips her cap off of her head, swats Mulder's arm with it, and replaces it with a sigh.

He's right, of course: the moment she walks into her parents' house, she will, in a sense, become a completely different person. Instead of Lieutenant Daniel Scully, decorated soldier, crack shot, aide-de-camp to Colonel Fox Mulder, she'll be Dana Scully, the spirited youngest child of Captain William Scully, one of two daughters who had had the audacity to leave home without being married first. She can almost feel the stiff and suffocating boning of the corset her mother is likely to thrust at her the moment she walks through the door.

"What's the matter?" Mulder asks, concerned, and Scully realizes that some part of her sense of dread must show on her face.

"I'm just thinking," she sighs, "about how different it's going to be. For me, I mean, once I'm a woman again."

"Scully, you've never stopped being a woman," Mulder says. "I think I know that better than almost anyone." 

"You know what I'm talking about, Mulder," she says, rolling her eyes. "I suppose I've gotten used to being taken seriously when I speak. To having some weight given to my opinion, to not being dismissed out of hand every time I open my mouth."

"You don't think I do that, do you, Scully?" he asks her, his voice soft.

"No, of course you don't, Mulder," she says. "And I don't for one moment imagine you would ever put up with anyone treating me that way in your presence. I just... I'm going to miss the freedom, is all." 

"Well," he cautions her, "I think that, at least for a while, you and I are going to be far too busy to spend much time going out and paying calls on anyone." He's right, of course: there are endless things to be done on the plantation, now that the war is over. And after they're married (which, Mulder has insisted, will be as soon as possible, if only because he claims he's gotten so used to sleeping next to her that he'll never again be able to sleep alone), Scully will be helping him with everything. 

Two months ago, a letter had arrived for Mulder from James, who is currently in Boston, having located his mother and sister, whom he hadn't seen since childhood, and it doesn't seem likely that he will want to return to Virginia. Nor would Mulder ever dream of asking him to. Bill Mulder, under strict doctor's orders not to exert himself, has officially ceded the running of the plantation to his son, and in James's absence, Scully has volunteered to help Mulder oversee the day-to-day operations. 

Mulder has arranged to sell the townhouse in Washington, and with the proceeds from the sale, they plan to tear down the slave cabins and replace them with sound and sturdy houses for their hired help to live in. The former slaves have been given the option to stay on, for fair wages, if they want. Mulder has also sold a parcel of land north of Culpeper, once slated to be farmed, and will divide the money amongst all of the former slaves, whether they decide to stay or go ("Back wages," he'd told his father shortly, when Bill had questioned his son's decision).

"Come on, what else is worrying you, Scully?" Mulder asks, jerking her out of her reverie.

Scully looks down at her hands, gripping the reins. "I know I've been joking about it, Mulder, but I really am nervous about going home again. I don't have any idea what my parents' reactions are going to be."

"At least it won't be a surprise to them," Mulder says bracingly. "You showing up in a uniform with your hair cut short." Scully had received a letter from Melissa right after Samantha's departure for West Chester- Sam and the letter must have passed one another on the road- to say that Daniel Waterston had paid a visit to Margaret Scully, during which he had spilled the beans on where, exactly, her youngest daughter was hiding, and explaining his reasons for no longer being interested in marrying her. Maggie Scully, Melissa had reported, had not taken the news well. 

Much to their relief, however, Maggie had not turned Samantha away when the girl had arrived; on the contrary, both she and Melissa had taken to her at once, as Scully had known they would. When Melissa had eventually returned to her apartment in New York, Samantha had taken over her correspondence with Scully. 

Today, though, Melissa should be at the house in West Chester, along with the rest of the family. Scully had written her from Washington, a week after the official Confederate surrender at Appomattox, and had asked her sister to come down and meet her, to be present when Mulder is introduced to the family as her fiance.

They're mostly quiet, each lost inside of their own heads, for most of the hour's ride to West Chester. Mulder gazes around, taking in the sights of the unfamiliar town, but Scully focuses only on what's directly in front of her, terrified of meeting someone she knows before she arrives at home. But her street, when they turn down it, is completely, blessedly empty.

Well... _almost_ empty, at any rate.

For a moment, for Scully, it's almost a repeat of a scene nearly two years ago, when she and Mulder had ridden into Fredericksburg to stay with his family. This house, however, is decidedly less grand than Charles Spender's, and the girl waiting by the front gate is markedly taller- closer to a young woman, now, than a girl. But the delighted squeal she lets out at the sight of her brother is the same, and so is the way that Mulder leaps down from his horse to meet her. He lifts her off of her feet and swings her around in the air, both laughing joyously.

Climbing down from her own horse, Scully spies another figure standing on the front porch, watching them with tears in her eyes, her hands clasped over her mouth. With her heart in her throat and her stomach in knots, Scully approaches her mother, bracing herself to be screamed at, to be seized by the shoulders and shaken... but Maggie Scully does none of these things. Before Scully can speak a word, her mother has wrapped her arms around her, squeezing her so tightly that she can barely breathe.

The first thing Maggie does after releasing her daughter is to whip the uniform cap off of her head and run her fingers through Scully's unevenly-shorn red hair, smiling ruefully.

"It will grow back, Mother," Scully says, ducking her head, still too nervous to meet Maggie's eyes, afraid that she'll find nothing but disapproval there. Her mother takes her chin, forcing her to look up, and to her immeasurable relief, there is nothing in Maggie's face but love.

Love tinged with exasperation, certainly, but in truth, that's the way it's been for years.

"I don't care about your hair, Dana," Maggie tells her. "I care that you're here. I care that you're safe." She hugs Scully again. "That's not to say that I'm not absolutely furious with you, but I'm willing to let that go for today." Scully nods, understanding perfectly. There will be a reckoning, and she will have no choice but to sit through it... but that will not happen today.

Breathing out in relief, Scully turns, holding her hand out to Mulder, who steps up to her side, Samantha behind him.

"Mother, I'd like you to meet Colonel Fox Mulder," she says. "I'm sure Samantha has told you all about him." Maggie smiles and offers a hand to Mulder, who bends and kisses the backs of her fingers.

"She has indeed," Maggie confirms. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Mulder."

The door behind Maggie opens, and Scully catches her breath as her father, every inch as imposing as she remembers, in spite of being out of uniform, steps out onto the porch, Melissa behind him. His face, at first, is unreadable, but moments later, the tears in his blue eyes give him away. Scully runs to him and flings her arms around his neck as he swings her around, exactly as Mulder had done to Samantha moments earlier.

Captain Scully steps back and examines his daughter's uniform, running his fingers over the insignia on her shoulders.

"Lieutenant?" he asks. "Not lieutenant colonel? Or colonel, even?" He shakes his head in mock disapproval. "I would have expected more from you, Sprout."

"I'm afraid that's my fault, Sir," says Mulder, stepping up beside her. Captain Scully looks up at Mulder, raising his eyebrows.

"Oh?" he asks, and Mulder nods.

"I'm sorry to say that I've selfishly kept Lieutenant Scully by my side for the past two years," he says. Scully swallows hard as she lays her hand along Mulder's arm. When she speaks, she tries her best to keep her voice even, to not give away how terrified she is. What if her father disapproves? What if he has it in his head that she can still somehow marry Daniel? She's not, of course, going to simply send Mulder on his way if her father is unhappy with her plans... but all things considered, she would much rather her father be happy for her and not angry.

"Father," she says, "this is Colonel Fox Mulder." Captain Scully raises his eyebrows in interest as he shakes Mulder's hand.

"Ah!" he says. "Miss Samantha's long-lost brother?" Mulder nods.

"I can't thank you enough for allowing her to stay with you," he tells both of Scully's parents. "It's been an enormous weight off of my mind, knowing that she's been safe up here." Maggie waves her hand dismissively.

"I've appreciated the company, Mr. Mulder," she tells him.

"I understand the two of you were in the same regiment?" asks Captain Scully, and Mulder nods.

"I was Scully's captain at first, then colonel...." He swallows hard, and Scully suddenly knows exactly what her chivalrous fool is about to do. "And with your permission, Sir, I would very much like to be her husband."

Maggie gasps and covers her mouth, and Captain Scully's blue eyes pop wide, and behind them, Melissa grins brashly at her little sister.

"You see? I can keep a secret when I want to," she says proudly, as Scully narrows her eyes at her. Their parents pay her no mind. 

Scully's mother and father look at one another, and in that glance, Scully sees all that she needs to know. Maggie will have learned all about Mulder from both Melissa and Samantha. She and Captain Scully will know, by now, that aside from being wealthy, he's a good man, a kind man, fiercely protective of the people he loves.

They're not going to disapprove. The knot in Scully's chest loosens.

"Why don't we talk about this inside?" suggests Maggie. "The two of you must be tired and hungry. Come in and have some lunch." Scully nods.

"Just let us see to the horses, and we'll be right in," she tells her parents. They turn and enter the house, along with Samantha and Melissa, and Mulder and Scully unhitch their horses from the front gate. When the front door closes, Mulder grins down at Scully.

"I think that went all right," he remarks. "They didn't throw me out immediately."

"What were you going to do if they did, Mulder?" Scully asks, as they lead their horses up the drive. "You never told me you were planning on asking my father's permission. What would you have done if he'd said no?"

"I would have snuck into your bedroom later tonight and carried you off," he says with a shrug. "Sam would have helped. Your sister, too, probably." Scully shakes her head, but she's laughing. They lead the horses into the barn, unsaddle them, and wipe them down, making sure there's water in the trough and oats and straw enough for them to eat.

Just before they leave the barn, Mulder reaches out and grabs Scully by the arm. She looks up at him questioningly.

"Before we go in to your family, and I have to be the perfect gentleman, before I have to keep my hands to myself...." He smiles down at her, cupping her cheek in his hand. "Do you suppose I could have one more kiss to tide me over?" Scully smiles, her heart fluttering in her chest as he leans down. _I hope he never stops making me feel that way_ , she thinks, as their lips meet and she presses herself against him, her fingertips digging into his hair below the brim of his hat.

She ends the kiss long before she wants to, knowing that if they're out here too long, someone is likely to come looking for them.

"Come on," Scully says, taking Mulder's hand. "We'll have all the time in the world for that, soon enough." Together, they walk out into the bright sunshine, hand in hand, for all the world to see.


End file.
